6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

fell  dead,  but  the  Spaniard,  in  order  to  make  sure, 
reloaded  and  fired  another  six  shots  into  the  corpse. 
A  policeman,  who  had  been  standing  by,  an  inter- 
ested spectator,  ticked  off  the  last  six  shots  on  his 
fingers,  then,  drawing  his  club  and  revolver,  walked 
up  and  arrested  the  Spaniard,  who  was  too  drunk 
to  resist.  The  policeman  bent  over  the  corpse  and 
stirred  it  with  his  boot.  The  man  was  quite  dead  ; 
but  to  make  sure,  he  hammered  the  remains  about 
the  head  with  his  club,  then  turned  and  marched 
his  prisoner  to  the  gaol.  The  corpse  lay  where  it 
had  fallen  till  nightfall,  and  every  child  in  the  town 
had  seen  it  before  it  was  removed  across  the  square 
to  the  police-station. 

My  manager  had  now  found  work  for  me.  He 
sent  for  me  one  morning  and  explained  that  he  had 
a  little  mission  for  me  to  undertake,  that  would  take 
me  about  a  week  and  enable  me  to  see  some  of  the 
surrounding  country.  He  told  me  that  I  was  to  go 
to  a  ranch  known  as  El  Naranjo  and  collect  some 
money  (a  considerable  sum)  that  was  due  to  the 
company.  My  route  was  roughly  indicated  to  me, 
and  I  was  told  to  start  at  once. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL 

I  WAS  over-joyed  at  the  prospect  of  the  trip,  and 
going  round  to  the  hotel  I  got  together  such  things 
as  would  be  needed  on  the  journey. 

As  I  was  to  go  unaccompanied  the  question  of 
packing  was  simple.  I  put  a  spare  shirt  and  some 
food  into  my  saddle-bags ;  put  a  compass,  a  tooth- 
brush, and  a  safety  razor  into  my  shirt-pocket; 
looked  to  my  revolver,  and  was  complete.  My 
horse  was  brought  round,  and  I  was  fastening  my 
shot-gun  to  the  saddle  when  Hemken  turned  up. 

"  Hullo,  kid  I  Where  are  you  off  to  ?"  he  asked.  I 
told  him  I  was  bound  for  the  mountains,  to  collect 
some  money  from  the  El  Naranjo  people.  He 
seemed  interested,  and  asked  me  who  was  sending 
me.  I  told  him  that  our  manager  had  just  given  me 
the  order.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  been  told  anything 
about  the  country ;  then  lost  his  temper  in  a  flash. 

"That  blockhead !  He  send  you  up  to  El  Naranjo  ? 
Why,  boy,  dey  is  outlaws,  and  kill  de  last  three  men 
dat  vent  up.  Dey  kill  you,  sure !  You  go  an  tell 
the  manager  to  hell !    Tell  him  to  go  himself." 

7 


A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 


MAPERO    AND    HIS    EXECUTIVK 


A   BUSY  TIME   IN 
MEXICO 

AN  UNCONVENTIONAL  RECORD 
OF  MEXICAN  INCIDENT 


BY 

HUGH  B.  C.  POLLARD 


NEW   YORK 

DUFFIELD  AND  COMPANY 

1913 


V  ^1 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   FRESH   FIELDS  AND  PASTURES  NEW  -  -  -           I 

II.  THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL  -  ...  7 

III.  I   BECOME  AN   EXPLORER            -  -  -  -        18 

IV.  "ALLIGATOR  LAND"      -               -  -  -  -        26 
V.  CROSSING  THE  BAR        -               -  -  -  -        34 

VI.  A  JUNGLE  HUNT              -               -  -  -  "45 

VII.   A  RAILROAD  JOURNEY   IN  SOUTHERN   MEXICO  -        54 

VIIL   LIFE  IN   MEXICO  CITY  -               -  -  -  -        63 

IX.  "LO,"  THE  POOR  INDIAN           -  -  -  -        73 

X.   FANTASTIC  FOOD              -               -  -  -  -83 

XI.   AZTECS  AND  RUINS        -               -  -  -  -        89 

XII.  ARMS  AND  THE  ARMY  -               -  -  -  '9^ 

XIII.  ART  AND  THE  NATIVES               -  -  -  -      I02 

XIV.  OUTFIT— TRAVEL              -               -  -  -  -      I07 
XV.   "EL   FOXCHASE"              -               -  -  -  -      II9 

XVI.  THE  MAN  WHO  DISLIKED  BULL-FIGHTERS     -  -      1 28 

XVII.  THE  LOWER  ORDERS     -               -  -  -  -      140 

XVIII.  THE  DAWN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  -  -  -      '52 

XIX.  THE  SHOT-GUN  JOURNALIST     -  -  -  "159 

XX.  A  DAY'S  WORK  -               -               -  -  -      170 

XXI.   BIVOUAC                -              -               -  -  -  -      183 

V 


263697 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  A   "SCRAP"   BEFORE  BREAKFAST           -               -  -  I9I 

XXIII.  UNDER  FIRE  ON  THE  RAILROAD          -               -  -  202 

XXIV.  RIOTING  IN  THE  CITY-               ...  -  212 
XXV.   AN  EXODUS          -               -               -               -               -  -  221 

APPENDIX   FOR    I913      -               -               -               -  -  234 

INDEX     -------  240 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING   PAGE 

MADERO   AND   HIS   EXECUTIVE                -                -  Frontispiece 

THE   MOUNTAIN  TRAIL               -               -               .  -               -          g 

MANGROVE   SWAMPS      -                -                -                -  -                -24 

IN  THE  LAGOONS  :  A  NATIVE  CANOE                -  -               -24 

A  COLONEL  OF  RURALES           -               -               -  -               -      lOO 

EL   FOXCHASE    -               -               -               -               -  -               -      I20 

FRANCISCO  I.   MADERO                -               -               -  -               "152 

INDIAN   REBELS                -               -               -               -  -               -      1 56 

TROOPS   MUSTERED   ON  THE   PASEO  DE  LA  REFORMA  -      162 

FEDERAL  AMBULANCE  WORK   IN  THE  FIELD  -               -      1 78 

REBEL  CAVALRY              -               -               -               -  -               -      1 86 

REVOLUTIONARY  LEADERS   IN  CHIHUAHUA  -  -               -      I92 

TYPICAL  REBELS              -               -               -               -  -               -      I98 

LOCO    AND    WRECKED    FREIGHT    CARS    IN    THE  HANDS    OF 

REBELS         -------      206 

SHOPS   DESTROYED   BY  RIOTERS,   MAY  24,   MEXICO  CITY       -      2I4 
MEXICAN      FEDERAL      SOLDIERS     GUARDING     FOREIGNERS' 

PROPERTY  -------      214 

WRECKED   FOREIGNERS'   SHOPS  -  -  -  -     2l8 

THE  GUARD  ON  DUTY  OUTSIDE  PRESIDENT  DIAZ'S  HOUSE, 

CLOSING  BOTH   ENDS  OF  THE  STREET     -  -  -      2x8 

TROOPS    GUARDING    PRESIDENT    DIAZ'S    HOUSE    IN    CALLE 

CADENA        --..---      224 


A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

CHAPTER  I 

FRESH  FIELDS  AND  PASTURES  NEW 

It  was  an  awful  disappointment. 

I  had  been  sent  out  to  a  company  by  their  London 
office,  and  there  had  been  nobody  in  the  office  who 
had  visited  the  company's  sphere  of  action  in  Mexico, 
their  knowledge  of  the  concern  being  entirely 
gained  through  the  monthly  reports  and  balance- 
sheet  of  their  manager  abroad.  The  manager  was 
not  pleased ;  he  was  thoroughly  over-worked  and 
under-staffed,  and  was  impatiently  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  an  assistant  who  must  of  necessity  be  a 
complete  and  certificated  surveyor,  a  book-keeper  and 
salesman,  and  a  finished  Spanish  scholar.  Instead 
of  this  the  London  office  had  sent  me — with  a  year's 
contract  and  an  infinitesimal  salary,  and  possessed  of 
no  qualifications  for  the  job,  having  been  lured  into 
accepting  a  billet  that  was  supposed  to  be  one  of 
those  delightful  tropical  sinecures  where,  after  about 
a  year's    apprenticeship    (hence    the    infinitesimal 


:::2  :  ..;        A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

salary),  you  graduated  into  a  position  in  which  you 
drew  a  thousand  a  year  and  played  polo  in  the 
afternoons. 

I  had  set  forth  cheerfully  prepared  to  explore 
unknown  country,  discover  Aztec  treasures,  shoot 
big  game,  and  be  generally  picturesque,  so  when  I 
arrived  we  were  both  disappointed.  The  manager 
considered  that  the  company  had  insulted  him,  and 
I  felt  that  I  had  been  grossly  misled.  We  sympa- 
thized with  one  another,  but  from  that  hour  we  both 
felt  the  awkwardness  of  the  position,  and  began  to 
play  for  our  own  hands. 

The  manager,  having  received  the  shock  and 
talked  over  the  situation  a  bit,  sent  me  to  the  local 
hotel,  in  which  I  was  to  take  up  my  quarters  tem- 
porarily. A  crisis  in  the  company's  affairs  had 
occurred  while  I  was  en  route^  and  a  visit  of 
directors  fresh  from  England  was  impending. 
They  were  coming  out  via  New  York,  and  should 
be  due  in  a  fortnight,  then  my  position  could  be 
discussed ;  meanwhile  I  was  at  liberty  to  settle  down 
and  get  accustomed  to  the  local  conditions. 

The  town  of  Tapachula,  where  I  was  situated,  is 
practically  the  most  southerly  outpost  of  the  Mexican 
Republic,  and  is  located  close  to  the  Guatemalan 
border,  in  the  State  of  Chiapas.  Chiapas  is  still 
unknown  Mexico,  and  is  regarded  by  the  civilized 
people  of  the  States  north  of  the  Isthmus  of  Tehuan- 


FRESH  FIELDS  AND  PASTURES  NEW    3 

tepee  as  an  utterly  barbarian  land  full  of  wicked 
people  and  savage  Indians ;  while  its  one  and  only 
railroad  track,  the  Pan-American,  is  a  standing  jest 
from  one  end  of  the  Republic  to  the  other. 

The  keynote  of  Tapachula  is  its  utter  desolation 
and  generally  casual  tone.  Nothing  matters,  and 
everything  is  slipshod  and  squalid.  The  train 
service  is  nominally  one  train  every  two  days ;  but 
months  pass  during  the  rainy  season  in  which  Tapa- 
chula is  left  absolutely  devoid  of  communication — a 
little  isolated  steam-bath  in  the  Tropics. 

Hemken's  Hotel  was  typical  of  the  southern 
frontier.  It  consisted  of  a  big  bar-room,  containing 
a  venerable  small-size  billiard-table  and  two  large 
bars.  At  the  back  of  this  was  a  veranda  full  of 
tables,  where  meals  were  served.  This  veranda 
looked  on  to  a  courtyard,  or  patio,  two  sides  of 
which  were  occupied  with  cubicles ;  and  the  other 
contained  the  kitchen  and  servants*  offices.  The 
servants  had  no  bedrooms ;  they  slept  in  the  patio 
or  at  the  doors  of  guests'  rooms. 

The  guests'  rooms  were  simply  devised,  and  con- 
sisted of  a  long,  corrugated-iron-roofed  shed  divided 
by  partitions  of  whitewashed  canvas,  particularly 
designed  to  harbour  vermin.  The  furniture  of  the 
rooms  was  simple :  one  plain  camp-bed,  with  mos- 
quito curtains ;  one  washstand  of  continental  model, 
the  basin  holding  perhaps  two  breakfast-cups-full  of 


4  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

water ;  one  fragment  of  looking-glass  nailed  on  to 
the  wall ;  a  chair ;  and  a  few  nails  to  hang  things  on 
comprising  the  rest  of  the  accommodation. 

The  hotel-keeper,  Hemken,  was  a  German,  and 
should  have  been  a  millionaire,  but,  owing  to  a  mania 
for  worthless  mining  claims,  he  was  forced  to  go  on 
keeping  the  hotel  instead  of  retiring.  All  meals 
were,  of  course,  a  blend  of  German  and  Mexican 
taste  in  food.  Everything  was  cooked  in  fat  (a 
German  method),  and  tough  and  dirty  as  a  con- 
cession to  Mexican  taste.  The  bar,  however,  was 
magnificent,  and  inferior  drink  is  fairly  cheap  in 
Mexico. 

White  society  in  Tapachula  is  elementary. 
Beyond  a  few  coffee-planters,  the  German  store- 
keepers and  their  assistants,  and  an  odd  Vice-Consul 
or  two,  there  is  no  one  of  respectability.  A  few 
wanderers,  broken  gentlemen,  come  in  sometimes, 
and  high  revel  is  held,  during  which  the  joys  of 
London,  the  efficiency  of  a  public-school  education, 
and  their  kindred  tastes,  are  talked  over.  But  the 
broken  gentleman  moves  on;  he  never  stays  at 
Tapachula. 

The  community  is  an  armed  one  —  everybody 
carries  a  revolver.  One  judges  a  man's  social  stand- 
ing by  his  arms.  The  men  of  action  carry  blue 
Colt  revolvers  of  -45  calibre ;  the  merchants,  refined 
and  unreliable  automatic  pistols;  their  inoffensive 


FRESH  FIELDS  AND  PASTURES  NEW    5 

clerks,  nickel-plated,  pearl-handled,  small-calibre 
revolvers,  the  kind  the  salesmen  call  **  suitable  for 
home  defence  ";  and  as  Mexico  is  a  country  where 
the  lariat  or  lasso  is  a  fighting-weapon,  your  man 
who  rides  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the  town  carries  a 
knife  in  his  boot.  If  a  man  is  roped  while  in  the 
saddle,  he  can  draw  a  knife  from  his  boot  and  sever 
the  rope.  Homicides  are  frequent  (they  average 
three  a  week) ;  but  as  it  is  only  twenty  minutes'  ride 
to  the  Guatemala  frontier,  beyond  which  the  law 
does  not  carry,  the  local  natives  do  not  set  a  high 
value  on  human  life,  neither  do  they  concern  them- 
selves much  over  the  activities  of  the  police.  There 
is  a  military  police  force  stationed  in  the  town,  and 
the  local  prison  and  police  headquarters  were  oppo- 
site the  hotel.  Smallpox  and  every  known  disease 
raged  in  the  gaol,  and  the  guards  used  to  bring  out 
the  dead  on  stretchers  at  breakfast-time  till  Hemken 
protested  to  the  Jefe  Politico.  Hemken  hated  the 
military  police,  and  particularly  their  doctor,  who 
used  to  parade  them  for  medical  inspection  in  the 
open  street  opposite  the  hotel.  When  this  occurred, 
any  ladies  in  the  hotel  retired  to  their  rooms,  while 
the  male  visitors  lined  up  and  criticized  the  show. 

The  police  took  their  duties  seriously.  One  after- 
noon a  Spaniard  got  drunk,  and,  walking  in  the 
Plaza  (the  Market  Square),  he  emptied  his  revolver 
into  a  Mexican  who  displeased  him.     The  Mexican 


6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

fell  dead,  but  the  Spaniard,  in  order  to  make  sure, 
reloaded  and  fired  another  six  shots  into  the  corpse. 
A  policeman,  who  had  been  standing  by,  an  inter- 
ested spectator,  ticked  off  the  last  six  shots  on  his 
fingers,  then,  drawing  his  club  and  revolver,  walked 
up  and  arrested  the  Spaniard,  who  was  too  drunk 
to  resist.  The  policeman  bent  over  the  corpse  and 
stirred  it  with  his  boot.  The  man  was  quite  dead  ; 
but  to  make  sure,  he  hammered  the  remains  about 
the  head  with  his  club,  then  turned  and  marched 
his  prisoner  to  the  gaol.  The  corpse  lay  where  it 
had  fallen  till  nightfall,  and  every  child  in  the  town 
had  seen  it  before  it  was  removed  across  the  square 
to  the  police-station. 

My  manager  had  now  found  work  for  me.  He 
sent  for  me  one  morning  and  explained  that  he  had 
a  little  mission  for  me  to  undertake,  that  would  take 
me  about  a  week  and  enable  me  to  see  some  of  the 
surrounding  country.  He  told  me  that  I  was  to  go 
to  a  ranch  known  as  El  Naranjo  and  collect  some 
money  (a  considerable  sum)  that  was  due  to  the 
company.  My  route  was  roughly  indicated  to  me, 
and  I  was  told  to  start  at  once. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL 

I  WAS  over-joyed  at  the  prospect  of  the  trip,  and 
going  round  to  the  hotel  I  got  together  such  things 
as  would  be  needed  on  the  journey. 

As  I  was  to  go  unaccompanied  the  question  of 
packing  was  simple.  I  put  a  spare  shirt  and  some 
food  into  my  saddle-bags ;  put  a  compass,  a  tooth- 
brush, and  a  safety  razor  into  my  shirt-pocket; 
looked  to  my  revolver,  and  was  complete.  My 
horse  was  brought  round,  and  I  was  fastening  my 
shot-gun  to  the  saddle  when  Hemken  turned  up. 

"  Hullo,  kid  I  Where  are  you  off  to  ?"  he  asked.  I 
told  him  I  was  bound  for  the  mountains,  to  collect 
some  money  from  the  El  Naranjo  people.  He 
seemed  interested,  and  asked  me  who  was  sending 
me.  I  told  him  that  our  manager  had  just  given  me 
the  order.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  been  told  anything 
about  the  country ;  then  lost  his  temper  in  a  flash. 

"That  blockhead !  He  send  you  up  to  El  Naranjo  ? 
Why,  boy,  dey  is  outlaws,  and  kill  de  last  three  men 
dat  vent  up.  Dey  kill  you,  sure !  You  go  an  tell 
the  manager  to  hell !    Tell  him  to  go  himself." 

7 


8  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

Then  he  cooled  down,  and  gave  me  the  history  of 
the  El  Naranjo  people. 

It  appeared  that  their  ranch  was  high  up  in  the 
mountains  and  exactly  on  the  Guatemalan  frontier 
line;  that  they  were  smugglers  of  contraband, 
robbers,  and  stock  thieves — in  fact,  they  were  out- 
laws. But  owing  to  their  being  related  to  the  local 
authorities  they  had  always  gone  unpunished  for 
their  crimes.  They  had  killed  cheerfully,  and  being 
of  pure  Indian  blood  were  sure  of  local  support. 

Hemken  implored  me  not  to  go,  and  said  exactly 
what  he  thought  concerning  my  manager. 

I  felt  rather  thoughtful,  and  appreciated  the 
manager's  kindness  in  sending  me  on  the  trip.  His 
thoughtfulness  in  sparing  my  feelings  by  not  warn- 
ing me  of  the  character  of  the  trip  touched  me 
deeply — so  deeply,  in  fact,  that  I  cursed  him  heartily, 
and  changed  my  shot-gun  for  a  repeating  carbine, 
and  left  for  the  job  feeling  slightly  less  cheerful  than 
I  had  been. 

I  had  a  good  deal  to  think  over,  and  I  summed  it 
up  on  the  trail.  For  me  to  travel  round  with  so 
much  money  on  me  would  be  clearly  inadvisable. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  owner  of  the  money  would 
be  safe,  and  therefore  he  must  bring  it  in  person  to 
the  town.  But  I  did  not  see  my  way  to  giving 
receipts,  etc.     No ;  only  the  boss  could  do  that. 

The  mountain  trail  was  delightful.     Tapachula 


a    (^    •    •    J 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL  9 

lies  practically  at  sea-level,  and  a  two  hours*  ride 
brought  me  into  the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierras.  Up  to 
now  the  vegetation  was  purely  tropical,  but  at  about 
1,000  feet  above  sea-level  the  palms  and  purely 
tropical  plants  gave  place  to  the  big  forest  trees; 
all  round  one  were  coffee  plantations,  or  green 
clearings  of  cacao-trees.  Far  away  underneath,  the 
strip  of  coast  country  stretches  from  the  foot-hills  to 
meet  the  Pacific,  breaking  up  into  lagoon  country, 
which  is  a  deep  emerald  green,  broken  here  and 
there  by  lakes  of  water  which  glitter  like  mirrors  in 
the  sun. 

The  trail  was  just  wide  enough  for  two  horses  to 
pass,  and  by  no  means  easy  to  follow.  A  little 
higher  there  was  a  wide,  boulder-strewn  valley,  and 
here  the  trail  ran  out  altogether  and  was  lost  among 
the  rocks.  I  tied  up  the  horse  and  cast  round  a  bit, 
and  soon  picked  up  the  line  leading  to  the  ford. 

Crossing  the  river,  which  owing  to  the  season 
was  not  very  deep,  I  off-saddled  and  rested  under 
some  big  trees.  My  horse  was  glad  of  a  rest  in  the 
heat  of  the  day,  and  I  was  quite  content  to  smoke 
and  watch  him.  Presumably  this  was  the  beginning 
of  the  siesta  habit. 

My  horse  was  one  with  a  history.  He  was  an 
iron-grey,  with  a  very  martial  appearance.  This  is 
a  distinct  asset  in  a  Mexican  horse.  He  had  been 
the  property  of  a  local  colonel,  whose  imagination 


10  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

was  so  fired  by  possessing  him  that  he  started  a 
revolution.  The  colonel  got  shot,  so  did  the  horse. 
But  he  was  still  serviceable,  and  of  a  peculiarly 
amiable  disposition,  the  chief  surviving  tradition  of 
his  military  past  being  a  marvellous  appetite  and  a 
pure,  unconscious  disregard  of  firearms.  You  could 
shoot  off  his  back  without  his  throwing  up  his 
head  at  the  report — this  I  considered  rather  an 
advantage. 

I  watched  my  horse  lazily,  and  saw  him  prick  his 
ears  and  gaze  up-trail.  Soon  a  party  of  Indians 
came  in  sight.  They  were  "Enganchars"  (con- 
tract labourers) — that  is  to  say,  they  were  signed 
on  for  so  much  work  in  the  plantation  at  a  nominal 
wage.  Actually  they  were  slaves,  for  the  schedule 
of  work  and  terms  were  on  a  sliding  scale  so 
arranged  that  they  could  never  get  out  of  debt. 
This  is  the  only  way  of  securing  labour  in  Mexico. 
Indians  don't  like  work.  The  plantations  need 
labour.  With  this  arrangement  everybody  was 
satisfied  except  the  Indians ;  but  as  they  died  every- 
body was  quite  happy. 

The  universal  tool  and  weapon  of  these  Indians  is 
the  machete,  a  very  heavy  chopping-knife  about  a 
yard  long.  They  are  very  expert  with  this,  so  all 
overseers,  managers,  and  employers  of  labour  go 
heavily  armed.  Sometimes  an  Indian  resents  out- 
rage and  kills  an  overseer  and  takes  to  the  bush. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL  ii 

Then    there    is    a    hunt    with    hounds — a    queer 
Mexican  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  show. 

I  finished  my  smoke,  saddled  up,  and  started  on 
the  trail.  My  horse  climbed  like  a  cat,  in  and  out  of 
dry  river-beds,  skirting  the  base  of  huge  boulders, 
slipping  on  greasy  shale.  Anywhere  a  man  can  go 
without  using  his  hands  a  Mexican  horse  can  follow. 

That  night  I  was  to  stay  at  an  American  ranch. 
I  carried  no  letter  of  introduction,  but  all  white 
strangers  are  welcome  in  that  country.  As  I  drew 
near  the  ranch,  signs  of  life  became  apparent: 
groups  of  Indians  cutting  down  weeds  in  the 
plantations,  donkeys  laden  with  sacks  of  produce, 
Indian  women  driving  flocks  of  turkeys.  It  was 
evident  I  was  approaching  a  settlement. 

The  trail  grew  wider,  and  branch  trails  appeared 
in  several  directions.  I  stopped  an  old  Indian  and 
asked  which  led  to  the  ranch.  He  could  not  tell  me, 
for  he  only  spoke  the  Indian  dialect,  "  Tumbulteco," 
and  did  not  understand  Spanish.  I  followed  the 
most  used  trail  and  soon  struck  the  ranch,  or,  as 
they  call  them  in  the  coffee  country,  "  finka." 

The  ranch-house  was  a  big  wooden  bungalow 
with  a  corrugated-iron  roof.  In  front  of  it,  in  place 
of  a  garden,  stretched  the  terraced  drying-patios — 
the  cemented  floors  on  which  the  coffee  beans  are 
dried.  Flanking  these  were  the  machine  shops  and 
the  huts  of  the  overseers.    Slightly  down  the  hill- 


12  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

side  were  the  huts  of  the  Enganchars,  all  set  in  a 
big  enclosure  of  wire-netting.  By  its  gate  was  a 
bell-tower.  This  signalled  the  hours  of  work,  and 
after  work  the  labour  is  safely  locked  up — if  not,  it 
would  run  away.  There  is  no  slavery  in  Mexico ;  it 
is  a  republic — there  is  contract  labour. 

I  rode  up  to  the  house  and  dismounted.  A  native 
servant  took  my  horse,  while  the  major-domo 
showed  me  into  the  sitting-room.  The  owner  of 
the  ranch  was  out,  but  food  and  drink  were  brought 
to  me  at  once  by  the  servants,  and  a  bedroom  made 
ready  for  me. 

Soon  an  old  prospector  turned  up  and  gave  me 
welcome.  He  and  I  sat  on  the  veranda.  I  smoked 
and  watched  the  sudden  fall  of  night  as  the  sun 
sank  behind  the  mountains.  The  shadows  of  the 
mountains  raced  across  the  lowlands,  and,  without 
any  dusk  or  half-light,  night  fell.  The  old  pros- 
pector produced  specimens  and  a  pocket  magnifier, 
and  invited  me  to  admire  his  wonderful  trophies,  get- 
ting more  and  more  exasperated  while  I  invariably 
mistook  pyrites  and  mica  for  "  free  gold,"  and  man- 
fully resisted  his  offer  to  make  me  half  owner  of  the 
richest  gold  proposition  in  Mexico,  although  he 
came  down  in  price  from  i,ooo  dollars  to  50  dollars 
for  the  claim  registration  fees.  Even  at  50  dollars 
I  did  not  think  I  could  live  up  to  a  gold-mine. 

Finally  the  rancher  turned  up  and  saved  me  from 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL  13 

the  ancient  "  blowhard."*  The  rancher  was  a  trim, 
spare  American,  Californian  by  birth,  but  bred  in 
Mexico.  He  spoke  English  with  the  soft  Spanish 
drawl,  and  made  me  welcome.  I  gave  him  the  news 
of  Tapachula,  and  informed  him  of  my  destination. 
He  made  no  comment,  but  later  examined  my 
weapons  and  showed  me  his  own  arsenal.  His 
revolver  had  several  notches  on  the  butt,  each  notch 
representing  a  homicide.  He,  however,  was  not 
communicative.  We  fed  on  quite  good  plain  food, 
and  sat  afterwards  on  the  veranda,  drinking  coffee 
with  native  spirit  as  a  liqueur.  The  lamps  were 
not  lighted,  as  he  explained — '*  they  attracted  mos- 
quitoes," and  he  pointed  to  two  bullet-holes  in  the 
match-boarding  of  the  house.  It  struck  me  that  a 
leaden  "mosquito"  might  have  a  dangerous  sting. 
Foreigners  are  not  popular  among  the  Indians. 

Next  morning  I  bade  him  good-bye,  and  he  in- 
sisted upon  sending  a  servant  with  me  to  act  as  a 
guide.  Before  leaving  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  saddle, 
and  remarked  that  after  quitting  my  next  night's 
stopping-place  I  had  better  keep  my  eyes  peeled. 

I  made  the  second  day's  journey  with  his  servant, 
who  was  a  walking  dictionary  of  inaccurate  informa- 
tion, and  told  many  unreliable  nature  stories.  He 
led  me  to  within  sight  of  the  ranch  whither  I  was 

♦  **  Blowhard  "  is  a  beautifully  descriptive  American  term  for  an 
old-timer  given  to  boasting. 


14  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

bound,  and  bade  me  farewell,  accepting  a  dollar  tip 
with  alacrity. 

This  ranch  was  owned  by  Germans,  and  the  lady 
of  the  house  made  me  welcome  immediately. 
Luckily,  I  spoke  German  fluently,  and  was  received 
as  an  honoured  guest.  The  whole  establishment  was 
a  little  bit  of  the  fatherland  dropped  down  into  the 
Tropics. 

Beer  was  produced  at  dinner ;  and  I  was  taken  to 
my  room,  which  had  a  real  bed,  and  real  oleographs 
on  the  wall.  Both  my  host  and  hostess  were  loud 
in  their  advice  to  me  not  to  go  on  with  my  trip,  but 
I  explained  that  I  had  my  orders  and  was  convinced 
that  nothing  would  happen. 

The  El  Naranjo  ranch  was  about  half  a  day's  ride 
from  the  Germans',  and  I  started  off  about  five  in 
the  morning,  meaning  to  get  there  before  midday. 
About  half-way  to  the  ranch  the  trail  was  very  bad, 
and  I  was  walking  slowly  when  a  shot  rang  out  in 
the  bush  and  ripped  through  the  foliage  at  my  side. 
I  slipped  my  carbine  clear,  dismounted,  and  took 
cover  behind  the  horse  and  got  ready  for  trouble, 
all  in  one  motion.  An  Indian  rose  from  behind  a 
rock,  and  I  saw  that  his  gun  was  a  muzzle-loader 
single-shot  gas-pipe.  I  covered  him  and  called  him 
up.  He  was  very  apologetic,  and  explained  that  he 
was  shooting  at  a  squirrel  and  had  not  seen  me 
coming.     1  decided  that  he  was  lying,  and  did  not 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL  15 

know  what  to  do.  Finally  I  inquired  who  was 
his  master.  He  replied  that  he  belonged  to  Don 
Guillermo  de  la  Cerda  of  the  Naranjo  ranch. 

"  Good,"  said  I ;"  I  am  in  search  of  Senor  de  la 
Cerda;  you  may  lead  me  to  him." 

The  native  accepted  the  situation  without  dis- 
cussion, and,  in  his  role  as  guide,  preceded  me 
along  the  trail. 

I  still  held  my  carbine  cocked. 

Together  we  reached  the  El  Naranjo  ranch.  It 
was  a  mean  little  assemblage  of  thatched  huts. 
Tied  to  the  posts  outside  was  a  good  horse  with 
a  fine  silver-mounted  saddle.  From  this  I  judged 
that  the  owner  was  at  home.  I  threw  my  reins  over 
a  hitching-post,  dismounted,  and  walked  in.  I  found 
the  man  I  wanted  eating  his  lunch.  He  was  most 
urbane  and  pleased  to  see  me,  and  inquired  how  I 
enjoyed  the  trip.  I  told  him  of  the  amusing  incident 
of  the  native  hunter.  He  was  delighted,  and  in- 
vited me  to  share  his  meal.  Selecting  a  seat  with 
its  back  to  the  wall,  I  joined  him.  He  read  my 
letters  from  the  office,  and  we  had  a  short  con- 
versation. My  Spanish  was  execrable,  but  when- 
ever he  talked  technics  I  could  hide  behind  the  veil 
of  not  understanding.  It  was  a  lovely  interview. 
Both  our  minds  were  working  overtime,  and  he  de- 
cided rapidly.  Going  to  a  table,  he  opened  a  drawer 
and  took  out  a  roll  of  bills  of  big  denominations. 


i6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

"  Please  do  me  the  favour  of  checking  these  over," 
he  said. 

I  soon  counted  out  the  correct  sum,  and  he  asked 
for  a  receipt. 

Now  I  had  no  idea  of  carrying  that  money  my- 
self— it  would  never  reach  the  office.  So  I  lied 
brilliantly. 

"I  am  a  subordinate  and  can  give  no  receipts," 
said  I.  "  You  must  come  to  the  office  and  sign  the 
transfer  deed." 

Here  he  grew  inquisitive,  and  I  fled  behind  my  bad 
Spanish  and  smiled  vacantly. 

I  then  told  him  of  the  urgency  of  the  business,  and 
explained  that  he  must  come  at  once. 

He  was  quite  annoyed,  as  it  would  have  been  so 
easy  to  recover  the  money  if  I  had  taken  it — an 
ambush — one  shot.  In  due  course  the  inquiry,  his 
production  of  my  receipt,  his  sympathy  and  sorrow 
at  hearing  that  matters  had  gone  astray — all  so 
nicely  arranged.  And  now  I  was  upsetting  the 
carefully  prepared  scheme.  At  last  he  gave  in  with 
good  grace,  and  said  that  he  would  accompany  me. 
Together  we  took  the  trail,  attended  by  three  armed 
servants. 

The  return  trip  we  made  through  different 
country ;  much  of  it  along  the  winding  course  of  a 
mountain  stream.  Everything  seemed  gigantic, 
the  tall  trees  hung  with  creepers  and  orchids  whose 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAIL  17 

dangling  air-roots  hung  like  snakes  across  our  path, 
the  enormous  boulders  on  which  the  horses'  hoofs 
slipped  on  the  greasy  stone.  The  thick  confusion 
of  giant  canes,  shrubs,  and  undergrowth,  and  the 
hot  silence  of  the  forest,  all  seemed  to  impress  on 
me  the  extraordinary  fertility  of  the  Tropics.  Trees, 
plants,  even  insects,  were  all  bigger  and  more 
harmful  than  they  ought  to  be;  the  poisonous 
undergrowth  of  the  monte,  harbouring  bloated  and 
venomous  vermin  of  all  kinds,  seemed  an  illustra- 
tion of  a  mad  world  all  run  to  monstrous  evil  over- 
growth, the  whole  country  marvellously  beautiful, 
but  unwholesome,  repellent,  and  hostile  to  man. 

Two  days  later  we  reached  Tapachula,  and  the 
outstanding  debt  was  settled.  Hemken  was  more 
than  a  bit  surprised  that  I  had  not  been  killed,  and 
was  sceptical  that  I  had  been  to  El  Naranjo  until  he 
saw  the  men  who  had  come  in  with  me.  But  that 
is  always  the  way  in  Mexico — the  people  in  the 
next  village,  or  over  the  next  mountain,  or  in  the 
next  state,  are  invariably  evildoers,  murderers,  and 
bandits. 


CHAPTER  III 

I  BECOME  AN  EXPLORER 

Soon  after  this  the  directors  arrived,  and  after  con- 
siderable discussion  they  said  that  I  had  better 
return  to  England,  and  offered  me  my  passage  home, 
with  many  apologies  for  having  misunderstood  the 
situation  and  having  sent  me  out.  I  was  not  at  all 
pleased  with  this  suggestion,  and  pointed  out  that  I 
had  been  engaged  for  a  definite  job,  and  that  it  was 
not  my  fault  that  the  company  had  no  use  for  me. 
Eventually  we  compromised,  and  I  accepted  gifts — a 
lump  sum,  cash  down — and  severed  my  connection 
with  the  company. 

I  found  myself  then  in  a  strange  country,  unused 
to  local  conditions,  not  speaking  the  language  well, 
and  possessed  of  fifty  pounds  and  an  outfit ;  so  I  set 
to  work  to  learn  Spanish  and  pick  up  the  customs 
of  the  country,  seeking  meanwhile  for  something  to 
do  until  qualified  to  go  up  to  Mexico  City  and  look 
for  a  permanent  job. 

The  country  round  the  railway  was  fairly  well 
developed,  but  the  State  of  Chiapas  has  always  been 
the  least  known  of  any  in  Mexico. 

i8 


I  BECOME  AN  EXPLORER  19 

Large  areas  of  land  were  purchased  by  land  com- 
panies, and  in  many  cases  the  land  was  not  even 
surveyed.  Many  American  and  European  settlers 
have  been  deluded  into  buying  worthless  land  on 
the  Isthmus  of  Tehuantepec  and  in  Chiapas.  A 
favourite  trick  of  the  land  companies  is  to  sell  the 
same  ranch  to  several  purchasers.  The  bona  fide 
companies  decided  to  survey  their  land  carefully, 
and  try  to  form  some  estimate  as  to  its  value.  One 
company,  owning  a  long  strip  of  country  on  the 
Pacific  side,  had  it  marked  on  their  maps  as 
*'  Esterros,"  or  lagoons ;  but  when  viewed  from  the 
mountains  it  seemed  well  wooded  and  exception- 
ally fertile,  so  it  was  decided  to  run  an  exploration 
trip  through  it. 

I  was  asked  if  I  cared  to  make  an  expedition,  and 
consented,  after  a  brief  discussion  of  ways  and 
means.  Information  regarding  the  district  was  hard 
to  get  and  rather  disconcerting.  When  digested  it 
amounted  to  this  :  that  the  lagoons  were  inhabited 
by  bandits  and  *'  bad  Indians,"  which  latter  were 
accustomed  to  fell  various  valuable  woods  that  grew 
in  the  swamp,  and  would  certainly  shoot  any  white 
folk  who  should  seem  to  be  spying  on  them.  There 
were  also  excellent  reports  of  the  quantity  of  game 
and  birds  that  were  to  be  secured,  but  no  one  could 
be  found  who  had  ever  been  through  the  lagoons.  I 
was  accompanied  in  part  by  a  German,  who  was  an 


20  A  .BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

excellent  cook  and  a  keen  naturalist.  Together  we 
arranged  for  the  gathering  of  supplies,  and  got  into 
touch  with  the  Indians. 

In  order  to  secure  canoes  and  guides  we  selected 
the  station  of  Pijijapam,  on  the  railroad,  as  our 
starting-place,  and  arranged  with  an  old  Indian 
woman  who  did  an  enormous  trade  in  hides  to  meet 
us  there  and  provide  transport  to  the  embarking- 
place.  The  supplies  consisted  of  tinned  foods,  flour, 
ammunition,  and  some  rough  surveying  material. 
We  took  with  us  a  fairly  heavy  armament,  our 
battery  consisting  of  a  -303  Savage  rifle,  a  -44  Win- 
chester carbine,  and  a  heavy  12-bore  Paradox  for 
use  with  solid  ball  or  buckshot.  In  addition  we 
each  carried  the  customary  heavy  revolver  which 
forms  an  indispensable  article  of  toilet  in  Southern 
Mexico. 

Pijijapam  was  reached  by  nightfall,  and  we  made 
for  the  local  hotel  for  the  night.  It  was  a  good 
specimen  of  the  typical  hotel  on  the  Pan-American 
railroad,  and  consisted  of  a  large  hut  thatched  with 
palm-branches,  and  inhabited  by  a  family  of  Mexican 
Indians  and  their  domestic  animals.  The  usual  meal 
of  "  frijoles  "  (beans)  and  "  tortillas  "  (a  tasteless  pan- 
cake of  ground  maize)  was  forthcoming.  At  night- 
fall a  few  hammocks  and  native  beds  were  laid  out, 
and  the  hotel-keeper,  his  family,  and  his  guests,  all 
retired  to  rest  in  one  room. 


I  BECOME  AN  EXPLORER  21 

There  was  neither  peace  nor  rest  that  night. 

Mosquitoes  and  fleas  kept  us  busy,  and,  short  of 
sitting  in  a  bath  of  paraffin-oil^^  there  was  no  way  of 
keeping  them  off.  The  Indians  do  not  mind.  The 
insects  bite  them,  but  do  not  worry  them  any  more 
than  house-flies  embarrass  a  European. 

Before  dawn  the  barking  of  the  dogs  and  the 
challenge  of  the  night-watchmen  announced  the 
arrival  of  our  escort.  A  creaking  bullock-cart  drew 
near,  and  several  horsemen  rode  up  to  the  hotel. 
The  hotel  staff  arose,  and  the  volume  of  empty  noise 
that  the  native  must  needs  raise  over  every  slight 
occasion  showed  that  someone  of  importance  had 
come. 

We  went  out  and  found  that  the  senora  with 
whom  we  had  made  arrangements  had  come  to 
meet  us  in  person.  She  was  seated  in  the  bullock- 
cart  upon  several  mattresses,  and  was  loudly  direct- 
ing her  retinue  of  mounted  Mexicans  how  to  bring  up 
the  cart  to  the  door  of  the  hotel  with  the  dignity 
befitting  her  station.  The  cart  halted,  and  the 
bullocks  laid  down  in  the  dust. 

The  senora  descended  and  greeted  us  warmly, 
and  then  producing  from  under  her  shawl  a  couple 
of  pullets,  gave  orders  for  them  to  be  killed  and 
breakfast  prepared.  Our  kit  had  to  be  inspected 
and  everything  displayed  and  explained. 

We  got  over  the  breakfast  safely  and  loaded  our 


22  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

heavy  baggage  into  the  bullock-waggon,  the  senora 
took  her  seat  upon  it,  and,  puffing  at  a  large  cigar, 
made  bitter  comments  on  the  lad  whose  duty  it  was 
to  drive  these  bullocks.  He  walked  alongside  with 
a  Mexican  riding-crop — a  stout  packing-needle  wired 
to  a  cane  shaft.  With  this  instrument  it  was  possible 
to  urge  the  conve3^ance  along  at  a  slow  walk.  The 
cart  itself  was  home-made,  the  wheels  being  solid 
sections  of  trees  set  on  a  hard-wood  axle.  The 
axles  were  never  greased,  and  the  squeaking  and 
groaning  was  an  unendurable  noise  to  English 
ears ;  but  a  Mexican  will  not  lubricate  his  axles — 
he  prefers  the  music. 

My  partner  and  myself  were  mounted  on  aged 
Mexican  ponies.  We  travelled  till  midday,  when 
we  stopped  at  one  of  the  senora's  ranches  for  the 
midday  meal  and  siesta. 

We  sat  in  the  shade  of  a  roofed  palm-hut  (walls 
are  unnecessary  in  this  climate)  and  waited  while 
lunch  was  prepared.  This  is  a  simple  process,  for, 
owing  to  the  extreme  heat,  the  only  meat  food  for 
the  country,  with  the  exception  of  fresh-killed  game, 
is  dried  beef,  or  "jerky";  this  is  usually  called 
"kilometre  meat,"  owing  to  the  fact  that  it  is 
exposed  for  sale  in  strips  of  varying  lengths.  The 
fresh  beef  is  cut  in  narrow  strips  and  hung  over 
poles  in  the  sun.  The  result  is  a  product  looking 
like  greasy  rope,  and  more  often  than  not  full  of 


I  BECOME  AN  EXPLORER  23 

maggots.  A  section  of  this  is  chopped  off  and 
thrown  on  the  glowing  ashes  of  a  wood  fire ;  there 
it  curls  up,  and  by  the  time  the  outside  is  charred  it 
is  warmed  through  and  ready  to  eat.  A  knife  and 
fork  make  no  impression  upon  it  at  all. 

The  only  way  is  to  eat  it  au  naturel^  and  seize  it 
in  the  teeth  and  shred  it  apart.  The  whole  party 
sat  round  tearing  up  this  meat,  and  eating  stewed 
beans  out  of  the  pot.  Spoons  were  unknown.  One 
has  to  fold  up  one's  tortilla  and  dip  out  the  stew 
into  it,  and  thus  transfer  it  to  the  mouth.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  tortilla  becomes  sloppy,  and  quite 
useless,  as  a  spoon.  There  are  no  plates,  or  glasses 
for  drinking  purposes.  A  calabash  floating  in  a  big 
earthenware  jug  of  brackish  water  is  the  only 
thing. 

To  successfully  negotiate  a  meal  with  the  Mexican 
Indians  is  no  mean  test  of  one's  adaptability ! 
However,  we  did  our  best  to  conform  with  the 
local  customs. 

After  a  short  rest  we  began  to  enter  the  lagoon 
country,  and  swarms  of  mosquitoes  settled  on  us. 
Our  faces  and  hands  were  covered,  while  the  horses 
were  thick  with  them.  The  poor  beasts  did  not 
seem  to  mind ;  but  we  Europeans  were  obliged  to 
don  heavy  buckskin  gauntlets,  and  wrap  our  silk 
neck-handkerchiefs  around  our  faces. 

Shortly  we  reached  the  canoes ;  these  were  long 


24  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

dugouts,  hewn  from  a  single  tree-trunk,  and  about 
thirty  feet  long  by  three  feet  wide.  The  embarka- 
tion was  at  last  safely  accomplished,  and  all  the  stores 
stowed  carefully  and  covered  with  waterproofs. 

The  senora  now  informed  us  that  she  was  coming 
with  us  part  of  the  way  in  order  to  visit  one  of  her 
numerous  relations.  As  the  old  lady  and  her  retinue 
made  more  noise  than  a  pile-driver,  and  I  wished  to 
shoot  game,  I  was  not  too  pleased.  But  as  she  was 
the  local  autocrat  I  did  not  see  how  to  get  her  to 
understand  that  her  presence  was  not  regarded  as 
indispensable. 

The  canoes  slipped  off,  and,  taking  the  time  from 
the  canoe-boy  of  the  leading  canoe,  the  whole  crowd 
began  to  chant  an  Indian  canoe  song.  The  channel 
through  which  we  were  steering  was  little  more 
than  six  feet  wide,  and  everywhere  above  the  water 
showed  the  gnarled  and  blackened  trunks  of  fallen 
trees.  Above  us  towered  the  green  foliage  of  the 
great  forest  trees,  bright  with  the  flowers  of  creepers 
and  orchids,  while  on  each  side  the  grey  roots  and 
suckers  of  the  mangroves  reached  down  into  the  mud. 

The  lagoons  were  crowded  with  wild  life.  On 
every  snag  sat  cormorants  and  herons ;  bitterns  sat 
motionless  and  unafraid  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
boat.  As  we  approached  an  open  lake  of  water, 
such  as  the  Indians  call  a  "  pampas,"  my  boy  pointed 
out  a  string  of  small  white  herons  flying  across. 


•    •  •       • 


•  "V  •  •    •  1 1 
.  •  V  •    •• 


MANGROVE    SWAMPS 


IN    THE    LAGOONS,      A    NATIVE    CANOE 


I  BECOME  AN  EXPLORER  2$ 

"Those  are  'garson' — 'egrets,'" he  said.  "In  the 
spring  we  kill  lots  of  them  for  their  plumes,"  and  he 
told  me  of  the  slaughter  of  the  birds  by  the  Indian 
hunters,  and  the  bloody  fights  between  the  different 
villages  for  the  possession  of  the  egret  plumes. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"ALLIGATOR  LAND" 

It  was  then  mid-afternoon,  and  we  determined  to 
push  on,  to  reach  the  fishing  village  of  Agua  Dulce 
that  evening. 

The  channel  leading  to  the  village  was  about 
fifty  yards  broad,  and  so  deep  that  the  poles  could 
no  longer  be  used,  and  we  were  forced  to  paddle. 
The  senora  was  by  this  time  asleep,  and  the  retinue 
had  dropped  into  silence.  The  canoe-boy  in  the 
bows  pointed  out  something  down  the  river,  and 
following  the  direction  of  his  hand  I  saw  something 
moving  across  the  waters. 

"  Lagarta  grande  "  (a  big  alligator),  he  whispered, 
and  I  got  my  heavy  12-bore  Paradox  ready. 

Gradually  the  canoe  crept  down-stream,  till  I 
could  see  the  outline  of  the  top  of  his  head,  the 
heavy  arches  over  his  eyes,  and  the  point  of  his 
snout  showing  like  pieces  of  log  above  the  water. 
He  moved  silently ;  only  the  big  V-shaped  ripples 
on  the  surface  showed  that  he  was  moving  at  all. 
At  about  fifty  yards  I  fired  at  the  hinder  corner  of 
the  eye,  and  heard  the  heavy  bullet  tell  upon  the 

26 


"ALLIGATOR  LAND"  27 

head.    The  recoil  shook  the  whole  boat,  and  the 
senora  awoke  with  a  scream. 

Shouts  from  the  boys  announced  the  success  of 
my  shot,  and  they  feverishly  urged  the  canoe  to  the 
spot  where  the  brute  had  sunk.  Clouds  of  mud 
rising  from  the  bottom  showed  where  he  lay.  A 
barbed  iron  head  was  fitted  to  the  canoe-pole  and 
lashed  on  with  rope,  and  a  little  prodding  about  soon 
discovered  the  corpse.  Speared  through  the  soft 
underpart,  he  was  speedily  brought  to  the  surface. 

An  alligator  is  most  unpleasant,  alive  or  dead,  and 
I  think  he  is  worst  when  you  have  to  skin  him. 
He  has  a  disgusting  smell,  intermediate  between 
musk  and  fish.  The  skin  on  the  back  is  so  thick 
that  it  practically  adheres  to  the  backbone,  and  has 
to  be  chopped  free  with  an  axe  or  heavy  knife.  It 
is  very  difficult  to  avoid  cutting  through  the  skin 
itself  during  the  process. 

Just  before  sunset  we  reached  Agua  Dulce,  which 
turned  out  to  be  a  little  fishing  village  on  a  strip  of 
beach  between  the  Pacific  and  the  lagoons.  It  was 
almost  impossible  to  hear  ourselves  speak  at  first, 
owing  to  the  continual  booming  of  the  Pacific  surf, 
but  after  a  while  our  ears  got  tuned  to  it. 

I  was  introduced  to  the  headman,  or  "jefe,"  of  the 
village,  and  was  promptly  invited  to  his  hut  to  feed. 
We  commenced  with  the  inevitable  tortillas,  and  I 
was  given  a  variety  of  black-pudding  or  sausage. 


28  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

It  was  quite  edible  until  my  partner  arrived. 

**  Do  you  know  what  you  are  eating  ?"  he  asked. 

I  said,  "  No,  but  it  seems  all  right." 

He  grinned,  and  explained  that  it  was  a  weird 
delicacy  made  of  alligator's  blood.  I  gave  the 
remainder  of  the  saurian  to  the  dogs. 

A  native  bedstead  was  produced,  and  I  rigged 
up  my  mosquito  net  and  turned  in,  but  not  to  sleep. 
The  bedstead  was  a  loose  wooden  frame,  laced 
across  in  wide  squares  with  strips  of  cowhide. 
The  result  was,  that  these  made  a  chequer-board 
pattern  on  one's  back.  After  an  uneasy  night  and 
much  chasing  of  fleas  and  jungle  ticks,  I  lay  awake 
before  the  dawn,  and  all  the  noises  of  the  village 
began  to  break  the  stillness.  The  deep  boom  of  the 
surf  seemed  now  a  dull  murmur,  and  the  clear  notes 
of  a  cock  crowing  were  taken  up  by  other  distant 
birds.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  began  to  shake  as 
hidden  night  animals  retired  at  the  approach  of 
the  day  and  disturbed  the  roosting  waterfowl, 
waking  the  forest  to  life.     At  last  the  sun  rose. 

The  first  beams  struck  the  mountain-tops  and 
changed  the  clouds  that  concealed  them  to  billows 
of  rose-coloured  mists.  Above  the  horizon  the  rays 
shot  up  like  the  sticks  of  a  crimson  fan,  and  gradually 
the  edge  of  the  golden  disc  itself  appeared  above 
the  sea. 

The  sunlight  seemed  to  race  along  the  waves  and 


"ALLIGATOR  LAND"  29 

turn  the  crests  of  the  great  surf-breakers  into  vivid 
blue.  The  whole  colour  of  the  ocean  changed  from 
grey  to  blue  flecked  with  white,  and  a  golden  path- 
way ran  over  it  to  the  centre  of  the  sun. 

The  flood  of  light  rushed  inland,  dispelling  the 
shadows  and  mists  of  the  night  and  forming  great 
golden  patches  on  the  surfaces  of  the  lagoons. 
Birds  began  to  twitter  in  the  thickets,  and  solemn 
cranes  flapped  to  the  water's  edge.  Flight  after 
flight  of  cranes,  egrets,  cormorants,  and  gorgeous 
flamingo-coloured  spoonbills,  flew  over  the  village, 
and  little  wisps  of  smoke  arose  from  the  houses 
as  the  women  began  to  light  the  fires.  Chil- 
dren came  out,  and  soon  the  village  life  was  in 
full  swing. 

After  a  hasty  drink  of  cofl'ee  and  a  mouthful  of 
food,  we  obtained  a  calabash  or  two  of  fresh  water, 
and,  strenuously  avoiding  the  senora,  stole  away. 
Once  clear  of  the  village  the  waterways  were  alive 
with  wildfowl,  and  a  shot  or  two  soon  brought  in 
enough  food  for  the  canoe-boys.  They  seemed 
fairly  omnivorous,  but  only  had  about  three  names 
to  use  for  all  known  varieties  of  bird.  Everything 
was  either  "  pajarito,"  or  "  garson " ;  but  it  was 
obvious  that  the  subject  did  not  interest  them. 

Midday  brought  us  to  the  Isla  de  las  Brujhas,  the 
"  Isle  of  Witches,"  and  here  we  paused  for  lunch 
and  siesta. 


30  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

The  island  was  about  four  acres  in  extent,  and 
only  about  twenty  feet  higher  than  the  surrounding 
country.  A  few  cocoa-palms  grew  here  and  there, 
and  following  an  overgrown  track,  we  reached  a 
tumble-down  palm  hut,  and  a  cleared  patch  in  the 
undergrowth  where  a  few  charred  posts  showed 
that  a  hut,  or  "  rancho,"  had  once  stood. 

As  we  approached,  a  big  zopilote,  or  scavenger 
buzzard,  got  up  and  flopped  heavily  away  to  a 
neighbouring  tree.  The  canoe-boy  crossed  himself, 
and  I  asked  why  the  island  was  thus  abandoned. 

He  told  me  the  story  of  how  three  brothers  who 
were  bandits  had  been  outlawed  from  the  hill 
country,  and  came  to  live  in  the  secrecy  of  the 
'*  monte,"  as  they  termed  the  swamps.  With  them 
came  their  women-folk,  and  it  chanced  that  the 
Rurales  (the  mounted  police  force)  recognized  one 
of  the  women  as  she  was  selling  dried  fish  in  an 
inland  market.  They  tortured  her  till  she  betrayed 
the  hiding-place.  And  they  sent  an  expedition  of 
forty  men  in  canoes  to  wipe  out  the  bandits. 
Warning  reached  the  brothers  too  late,  but  they 
were  well  armed,  desperate,  and  good  shots.  The 
battle  lasted  two  days  and  two  nights.  On  the 
morning  of  the  third  day  it  was  seen  that  only  one 
man  was  firing  from  the  island.  Two  Rurales 
landed,  and,  circling  round  to  the  side  of  the  house, 
shot  down  the  bandit  and  all   the  women.    The 


"ALLIGATOR  LAND"  31 

rancho  was  burnt  to  the  ground,  and  the  little 
plantation  laid  waste. 

Since  that  time  no  Indian  will  settle  on  the 
island,  and  indeed  it  seemed  as  if  some  taint  still 
clung  to  it.  Rank  weeds  grew  in  the  maize  path, 
and  the  small  fruit-trees  and  palms  seemed  un- 
touched by  man  or  bird. 

Our  stop  for  the  evening  was  to  be  the  Bar  of 
Tolomita.  About  two-thirds  of  the  distance  had 
been  covered  when  I  decided  to  land  for  a  while, 
and  rest  on  a  small  "  hard  "  of  sand  on  the  jungle 
side  of  the  pathway.  I  got  ashore,  carrying  my 
rifle  and  bandolier,  and  lit  a  pipe  to  keep  off  the 
mosquitoes. 

I  had  hardly  advanced  six  yards  before  I  noticed 
the  ground  was  covered  with  what  I  took  to  be 
deer  tracks.  Reaching  a  clearing  under  some  big 
trees,  a  rustling  in  the  bushes  startled  me,  and  a 
wild  pig  rushed  out  into  the  open.  On  seeing  me 
he  stopped  dead.  I  fired  and  bowled  him  over. 
An  instant's  silence  followed  the  report.  Then  the 
whole  forest  seemed  to  go  mad.  Screams  and 
grunts  came  from  the  bush,  and  birds  and  parrots 
flew  around  shrieking.  About  ten  pigs  came  out  of 
the  bush  and  rushed  to  their  fallen  comrade.  It 
then  occurred  to  me  what  I  had  done.  I  had  shot 
one  of  a  herd  of  peccary ! 

Now,  I  knew  of  the  persistence  of  these  animals, 


32  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

and  how  feared  they  were  by  the  Indians,  and  it  did 
not  make  me  waste  time  in  moving.  I  grabbed  on 
the  nearest  creeper  that  would  bear  my  weight,  and, 
rifle  and  all,  hustled  up  to  the  parent  tree  as  quickly 
as  possible.  I  managed  to  swing  astride  a  lower 
branch,  and,  crawling  along,  was  soon  safe  in  the 
crutch  of  a  big  red  cedar.  The  peccaries  were  now 
looking  at  me,  and  one  was  evidently  smelling  the 
creeper  I  had  climbed.  All  of  a  sudden  he  squealed 
with  rage  and  charged  to  the  foot  of  the  tree.  The 
others  joined  him,  and  a  wave  of  rage  seemed  to 
run  right  through  the  herd.  Some  gnashed  at  the 
creepers  with  their  tusks,  and  others  just  stood  and 
watched  me  with  their  little  red  eyes  gleaming  with 
obstinate  hate. 

I  estimated  the  herd  as  being  about  thirty  to 
thirty-five  strong,  and  it  was  of  both  sexes.  There 
were  no  little  pigs  with  the  sows,  but  quite  a  pro- 
portion of  "  yearlings." 

I  began  to  shoot,  picking  out  the  noisiest  members 
of  the  herd.  The  peccaries  were  immediately 
interested,  but  beyond  investigating  the  corpses,  did 
not  retreat.  They  seemed  absolutely  devoid  of 
fear.  It  was  then  I  discovered  the  full  horror  of 
my  predicament — that  tree  was  full  of  fire  ants,  and 
a  fire  ant  is  a  small  ant  that  feels  like  a  hot  cigarette- 
end  wherever  he  touches ;  so  I  felt  that  it  was  no 
time  for  humanitarian  principles  when  I  had  a  few 


** ALLIGATOR  LAND"  33 

dozen  of  these  little  beasts  in  my  shirt.  They  were 
swarming  over  me :  I  reloaded  the  magazine  of  my 
Savage,  and  commenced  the  slaughter,  often  getting 
two  pigs  with  the  same  bullet.  In  about  two 
minutes  there  were  only  about  five  pigs  left,  and 
my  rifle  ammunition  was  exhausted.  I  determined 
to  make  a  run  for  the  boat,  and  leaving  the  trunk  of 
the  tree  between  myself  and  the  enemy,  I  slid  down 
a  creeper  rope. 

Drawing  my  heavy  Colt  revolver,  I  started  and 
made  a  run  for  the  beach,  shooting  back  as  I  ran. 
I  got  on  board  the  canoe  and  refilled  my  rifle 
magazine,  then,  taking  the  Paradox  loaded  with 
the  buckshot,  I  and  the  canoe-boys  landed.  The 
remainder  of  the  peccaries  fled  into  the  bush,  and 
we  set  to  work  to  count  the  dead.  While  the  boys 
were  cutting  out  the  tusks,  I  sat  down  to  a  quiet 
ant  hunt,  and  soon  was  free  of  my  visitors. 

We  took  some  of  the  peccaries  along  for  food,  for 
if  the  scent  glands  are  removed  they  make  very 
fair  pork.  The  remainder  we  left  for  wandering 
Indians  or  the  creatures  of  the  forest. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  my  habit  of  carrying  a 
bandolier  full  of  cartridges  and  a  hip  revolver  as 
well,  I  might  have  remained  up  in  the  tree  till 
Doomsday. 


CHAPTER  V 

CROSSING  THE  BAR 

After  the  peccary  incident  I  was  a  bit  more  careful 
about  shooting  on  sight.  That  night  we  made  an 
early  camp  at  El  Barras  de  Tolomita  (the  Bar  of 
Tolomita),  on  a  slight  spit  of  sand  where  the  fisher- 
folk  had  erected  one  or  two  tumble-down  palm 
shelters  under  the  lee  of  the  beech.  We  then 
hastily  built  a  fire  of  drift-wood  to  cook  our  meal 
of  pork. 

The  fire  was  barely  alight,  and  one  of  the  boys 
was  half-way  through  the  dissection  of  a  pig,  when 
night  fell.  The  mosquito  nets  were  soon  rigged  up, 
and  by  the  light  of  the  fire  we  enjoyed  a  sumptuous 
peccary  supper.  The  rest  of  the  animal  was 
hung  up,  and  we  turned  in,  the  cool  sea-breeze 
making  a  pleasant  change  from  the  usual  tropical 
night. 

About  one  o'clock  I  was  awakened  by  a  most 
startling  howl,  and  sat  up  under  the  net.  The  canoe- 
boys  were  awake  and  gazing  into  the  dark.  Wild 
thoughts  of  attacks  by  bandits  or  savage  Indians 
ran  through  my  mind ;  but  the  night  was  dead  silent 

34 


CROSSING  THE  BAR  35 

except  for  the  hum  of  insects  and  an  occasional 
splash  from  the  lagoons. 

Suddenly,  almost  at  my  elbow,  the  howl  came 
again,  and  the  boys  yelled  "Tigre"!  (tiger),  and 
jumped  up  to  put  more  wood  on  the  red  embers  of 
the  fire.  There  was  a  crash  or  two  under  one  of 
the  shelters,  and  then  we  heard  something  being 
dragged  along  the  sand.  The  fire  blazed  up  again, 
and,  reassured  by  the  light,  we  made  investigations. 

The  body  of  the  pig  was  gone,  and  the  boys 
pointed  to  the  tracks,  saying,  "Tigre  grande!"  (a 
big  tiger).  After  a  hasty  search  to  see  that  every- 
thing else  was  all  right,  we  built  up  a  blazing  fire  and 
turned  in  again. 

At  dawn  I  got  up,  and,  taking  the  Paradox,  started 
to  follow  the  tracks.  With  me  came  Luis,  one  of 
the  canoe-boys  ;  a  heavy  breeze  enabled  me  to  work 
up-wind.  The  tracks  were  deep  in  the  sand,  but 
there  was  very  little  sign  of  the  pig's  body  having 
been  dragged  along.  I  fancy  that  the  tiger  had 
held  it  clear  in  his  jaws,  and  bounded  along  when 
scared  by  the  fire,  for  the  tracks  were  very  deep 
and  far  apart. 

Soon  we  came  to  the  fringe  of  thorn-bush  that 
showed  the  beginning  of  the  "monte."  Luis 
signalled  me  to  remain  behind,  and  crept  forward 
quietly.  Soon  he  beckoned  to  me  to  creep  up.  I 
got  to  where  he  was,  and  he  pointed  to  a  spot  about 


36  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

fift}^  yards  ahead,  where,  on  a  patch  of  sunlit  sand, 
lay  a  leopard. 

Handing  him  the  Paradox,  1  took  the  -303  Savage 
instead,  and,  taking  a  rest  over  his  shoulder,  I  fired. 
Reloading  as  I  ran,  I  reached  the  clearing.  The 
leopard  lay  stretched  out  by  his  stolen  meat  (which 
was  practically  untouched) ;  my  bullet  had  ploughed 
him  from  side  to  side,  and  he  was  stone-dead. 

Leaving  Luis  to  skin  him,  I  set  out  to  return  to 
camp  along  the  seashore,  and  encountered  a  turtle. 
It  was  the  first  I  had  met,  and  I  was  puzzled  whether 
to  shoot  it  or  catch  it  alive. 

The  latter  seemed  more  entertaining,  so,  remem- 
bering the  stories  of  my  youth,  I  sought  for  drift- 
wood in  order  to  turn  it  on  its  back. 

Having  found  the  drift-wood,  I  approached  the 
sleeping  turtle,  laid  my  rifle  down  on  the  sand,  and, 
taking  up  a  strategic  position  between  the  sea  and 
the  turtle,  tried  to  lever  him  up.  The  beast  was 
much  heavier  than  I  expected,  and  the  heave  did 
not  work.  Instead,  the  turtle  woke  and  bolted. 
I  pursued,  and  managed  to  spill  him  over  at  the 
second  try,  and,  by  smiting  him  lustily,  induced  him 
to  keep  quiet.  I  could  not  safely  leave  him,  for  the 
brute  would  try  and  turn  over,  and  once  did  so. 
Luckily  Luis  appeared.  We  soon  cut  creepers  and 
made  a  sling  with  which  to  drag  the  capture  to 
the  camp. 


CROSSING  THE  BAR  37 

There  was  much  joy  when  we  returned  laden 
with  a  leopard-skin  and  a  "  tortuga."  It  seemed 
that  turtle  meat  was  appreciated,  and  we  deter- 
mined to  kill  it  at  once.  Luis  superintended  the 
execution.  He  turned  the  turtle  on  to  its  belly  and 
stood  by  with  gleaming  machete  for  the  brute  to 
put  its  head  out.  Slowly  the  cruel  beak  and 
leathery  neck  protruded,  one  by  one  the  flippers 
came  out  of  the  sockets,  and  it  stood 'on  tiptoe. 
Luis's  machete  descended,  and  the  execution  was 
over.  I  was  interested  in  the  anatomy  of  turtles 
and  had  never  investigated  one,  so  I  set  to  work 
with  knife  and  axe  to  detach  the  lower  plate  of  the 
corpse.  Turtle-shell  is  about  as  hard  to  cut  as  horn, 
and  I  made  a  fearful  job  of  it,  but  finally  opened  the 
case.  I  found  the  bell-crank  arrangement,  on  which 
a  turtle's  head  works,  a  most  fascinating  piece  of 
anatomy.  It  had  always  been  a  mystery  to  me 
before.  We  cut  out  hunks  of  the  white  meat  and 
threw  away  the  rest,  and,  loading  up  the  canoesi 
prepared  to  cross  the  Bar  of  Tolomita. 

The  bar  looked  horrid.  A  break  in  the  sand- 
bank and  reef  enclosing  the  lagoons  allowed  the 
Pacific  surf  to  beat  into  a  wide  lake,  which,  though 
deep  in  the  centre,  had  several  unsuspected  bars 
and  shoals.  To  add  to  the  joys  of  crossing,  the 
boys  pointed  out  the  black  fins  of  sharks  cutting 
about  in  the  shoal  water,  impressing  on  me,  "  Son 


38  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

muchos  tiburones — que  comen  hombres  "  (there  are 
many  sharks — who  eat  men). 

Cautiously  we  set  off,  and  after  being  rocked  and 
tossed  sideways  by  the  waves,  and  soaked  to  the 
bone,  we  reached  the  shelter  of  the  other  reef  with 
the  dugout  half-full  of  water. 

The  second  canoe  was  in  difficulties  and  had 
dropped  behind  about  two-thirds  of  the  way  over, 
and,  when  within  a  few  yards  of  safety,  a  wave  took 
it  broadside  on,  filling  it  with  water.  The  canoe 
promptly  sank.  The  boy  clung  to  his  paddle,  and, 
splashing  through  the  water,  he  soon  swam  to  us, 
his  face  grey  with  fear  of  the  sharks,  who,  as  we 
watched,  were  investigating  the  scene  of  the  wreck. 
I  sat  on  the  bank  and  cursed,  as  that  canoe  con- 
tained all  spare  food  and  supplies,  a  good  deal  of 
ammunition,  and  my  mosquito  net.  To  recover  it 
was  impossible ;  the  water  was  fathoms  deep,  full 
of  sharks,  and  possibly  alligators. 

To  blow  off  some  steam  at  this  calamity,  I  took  a 
casual  shot  at  the  spot  where  I  judged  some  vital 
portion  of  a  shark  would  be.  The  bullet  splashed 
up  the  water,  and  the  great  fish  lurched  clear  of  the 
waves,  showing  the  dead  white  underside  and 
enormous  mouth.  As  he  fell  back  the  others  made 
a  rush  for  him,  attracted  by  the  scent  of  blood,  and 
all  around  the  water  bubbled  and  boiled  with  the 
fury  of  the  combat 


CROSSING  THE  BAR  39 

We  had  now  only  one  canoe  and  a  limited  amount 
of  supplies. 

I  held  a  commission  and  investigated  what  we 
had  left,  and  found  that  of  tinned  food  we  had 
enough  for  two  days  on  half  rations,  but  no  bread 
or  starch  of  any  kind,  with  the  exception  of  a  handful 
of  corn  cobs ;  and  only  one  calabash  of  sweet  water, 
enough  for  a  day's  journey. 

The  ammunition  was  reduced  to  about  a  dozen 
shot-gun  cartridges  and  twenty  rounds  of  rifle 
ammunition  apiece.  Our  revolver  belts  were,  luckily, 
full. 

Reviewing  the  situation,  I  decided  to  push  on  as 
we  were,  and  try  to  reach  an  Indian  village  that  I 
believed  to  be  about  two  days'  journey  distant 
through  the  swamp.  The  canoe-boys  were  not 
pleased,  but  accepted  the  situation  for  what  it  was 
worth,  so  we  repacked  the  kit  and  started  through 
the  unknown  channel. 

By  midday  the  heat  was  terrible,  and  instead  of 
open  lakes  of  salt  water  connected  by  streams,  we 
were  slowly  poling  away  through  narrow  channels, 
where  the  water  was  only  a  few  inches  deep,  and 
the  canoe  bottom  scraped  through  the  thick  mud. 

Every  leaf  hid  mosquitoes  and  every  mangrove- 
root  concealed  little  black  and  red  crabs.  When 
we  came  to  a  point  where  the  channel  was  blocked 
by  a  snag,  or  fallen  tree,  and  the  canoe  could  go  no 


40  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

farther,  then  it  was  that  we  realized  the  joys  of 
swamp  travel.  We  had  to  disembark,  and,  with 
machetes,  cut  a  way  through  the  roots,  then,  waist- 
deep  in  squirmy  black  mud,  heave,  lift,  and  drag 
the  clumsy  dugout  over  the  obstacle.  At  other 
points  the  turns  in  the  channel  were  too  sharp  to 
admit  of  easy  management  of  the  long  canoe,  and  it 
meant  half  an  hour's  hard  work  to  negotiate  the 
turn. 

I  was  a  mass  of  insect  bites,  and  all  over  my  body 
the  jungle  ticks  had  fixed  fast  in  the  flesh.  These 
cannot  be  pulled  off  without  leaving  their  jaws 
embedded  in  you  and  making  a  festering  wound  : 
the  only  way  to  deal  with  them  is  to  heat  them  with 
a  hot  cigarette-end  till  they  relax  their  grip,  when 
they  can  then  be  pulled  off  clean. 

The  shallow  shoals  were  crowded  with  fish. 
Great  pike  lay  idly  basking  an  inch  or  two  beneath 
the  surface,  and  the  rush  of  the  shoals  of  **  lissa  "  (a 
big  edible  fish  rather  like  a  giant  carp)  made  swirls 
in  the  water. 

The  canoe-boy  laid  down  his  pole  and,  taking  up 
a  position  in  the  bows  of  the  canoe,  lent  over, 
machete  in  hand.  A  swift  slash  into  the  water,  and 
a  big  pike  was  secured,  the  blow  having  broken 
its  backbone.  In  this  way  half  a  dozen  fish  were 
secured,  and  it  was  up  to  me  to  provide  the  meat 
course. 


CROSSING  THE  BAR  41 

Edible  game  was  scarce,  but  it  was  now  not  a 
question  of  taste  but  of  hunger,  and  I  could  not 
afford  to  be  fastidious  about  the  fishy  flavour  of  a 
heron  or  a  crane,  although  we  drew  the  line  at 
eating  a  fish  eagle. 

High  over  against  the  sun  came  a  string  of 
flamingo-coloured  birds,  and  as  they  cleared  the 
tops  of  the  trees  I  fired,  and  the  foremost  fell  amidst 
the  swamp-bush. 

Quickly  we  urged  the  canoe  to  the  spot,  and 
groping  our  way  through  the  mangrove  stems 
collected  the  game,  and  then  pushed  on  to  find  a 
camping-place  for  the  night. 

We  came  at  sunset  into  a  small  lake,  or  pampa, 
of  water,  where  the  ground  on  one  side  was  not 
pure  mud,  and  one  or  two  cocoanut-palms  and  a 
few  ceiba-trees  grew  amidst  the  bush.  Here  we 
decided  to  camp;  the  dugout  was  beached,  and  the 
remaining  stores  carried  ashore.  A  fire  was  soon 
built  and  the  fish  cooked.  This  process  is  simple  : 
A  stick  is  run  through  the  fish  lengthways,  and, 
supported  on  two  forked  rests,  it  is  slowly  turned 
over  the  fire.  In  about  ten  minutes  the  skin  and 
scales  were  charred  to  cinders,  and  the  inside  was 
beautifully  cooked  in  its  own  juice.  We  felt  the 
loss  of  the  salt  and  pepper,  but  still,  that  fish  was 
glorious  eating. 

My  pink  bird — he  was  a  spoonbill,  with  lovely 


42  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

salmon-pink  plumage,  green  beak  and  legs,  and 
scarlet  eyes — was  not  a  success.  We  boiled  him  in 
a  pail,  and  he  gave  off  a  large  quantity  of  yellow- 
reddish  oil,  and  fat  that  tasted  and  smelt  of  all  the 
most  dreadful  kinds  of  fish.  The  flesh  was  dark- 
coloured  and  tough  as  rubber ;  altogether  it  was  a 
most  ghastly  dish,  and  even  the  canoe-boys  could 
not  eat  it. 

The  cocoa-palms  were  a  godsend,  the  great,  green 
husks  furnishing  us  with  fresh  water,  or,  rather, 
fresh  cocoanut -juice.  We  soon  chopped  down 
enough  to  freight  the  canoe  heavily,  and  were 
relieved  of  our  fear  of  thirst. 

We  had  no  tents,  and  so  slept  in  the  open.  About 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the  fire  had  burnt 
low,  a  deafening  crash  of  thunder  woke  us  all,  and 
a  fierce  wind  began  to  blow  through  the  camp. 
By  the  light  of  the  fire  we  hastily  covered  up 
stores  and  got  things  ready.  A  tropical  storm  was 
coming.  We  carried  the  dugout  shoulder  high  up 
the  beach,  and  used  it  as  a  tent  to  protect  ourselves 
and  our  kit.  We  were  barely  in  time  to  get  all 
ship-shape  before  the  storm  was  upon  us. 

With  a  roar  of  wind  the  rain  came  down,  and  in 
an  instant  it  was  as  if  we  were  beneath  a  wall  of 
water.  The  fire  was  instantly  quenched,  and  the 
darkness  was  lit  by  flashes  of  lightning — not  the 
mild  display  of  the  temperate  zones,  but  the  vicious 


CROSSING  THE  BAR  43 

fire  of  the  Tropics.  The  blaze  was  almost  continuous ; 
the  flashes  came  with  a  hissing  crack  of  their  own, 
followed  instantly  by  the  deafening  crash  of  thunder. 

We  sat  there  huddled  together  under  the  boat, 
while  the  torrential  rain  drummed  upon  the  up- 
turned canoe  and  turned  the  ground  upon  which  we 
were  seated  into  a  marsh  ;  the  temperature  changed 
from  dry  heat  to  bitter,  damp  chill. 

The  storm  passed  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  but 
we  could  not  light  a  fire,  and  so  sat  shivering 
together  waiting  for  the  dawn. 

The  remainder  of  the  trip  was  similar  in  its  dis- 
comforts. I  shot  birds  and  alligators  and  cursed 
the  insects.  An  iguana,  or  tree-lizard,  furnished  a 
change  in  the  menu,  and  was  not  at  all  bad  eating. 
Finally  we  reached  an  Indian  settlement. 

These  Indians  were  log-thieves  and  bandits ; 
nevertheless,  they  entertained  us  most  hospitably. 
The  settlement  was  composed  of  about  six  palm 
huts,  the  furniture  of  which  was  a  bed  and  two 
stools,  while  the  only  decoration  was  a  small 
picture  of  the  Virgin  of  Guadalupe,  decorated  with 
strips  of  coloured  paper.  Before  one  of  these  tiny 
altars  were  two  ornaments — two  green  glass  insu- 
lators from  a  telegraph-pole !  The  people  were 
miserably  poor  and  ill-clad,  and  all  the  live-stock  on 
their  rancho  were  a  few  hens  and  a  couple  of  mangy 
dogs.     They  had   enormous   families   of   children, 


44  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

though  the  infant  mortality  is  said  to  be  very 
great. 

Two  days  later  I  reached  the  railroad  near  Tonala, 
and,  striking  a  construction-camp,  had  again  reached 
civilization.  I  wrote  a  nice  report  on  the  economic 
resources  of  the  swamp  country,  and  included  a 
beautiful  map  of  the  trail  I  had  followed. 

The  time  will  come  when  some  European  syndi- 
cate will  want  the  timber,  and  then  the  Indian 
fisher-folk  will  vanish. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    JUNGLE    HUNT 

**  You  are  so  keen  on  hunting  in  the  *  monte/  why 
don't  you  get  up  to  the  hills  behind  Cocoyule  and  get 
that  black  tiger  they  talk  about  ?"  said  the  owner  of 
the  saw-mill. 

**  Black  tiger  ?" 

**  Yes,  black — or,  at  least,  so  the  natives  say.  My 
foreman,  Sabino,  can  tell  you  something  about  it." 

I  left  the  man  of  planks  and  shingles,  and,  going 
into  the  yard  of  his  works,  hunted  up  Sabino,  who 
proved  to  be  an  intelligent  native,  and,  what  was 
more,  a  keen  sportsman. 

"The  senor  knows  the  direction  of  Cocoyule,  near 
to  Juchitan  ?  Well,  quite  near  is  a  *  monte  *  that  is  an 
old  'pueblo* — an  antiqua  from  whence  run  traces 
of  a  paved  road  right  into  the  sierras  ;  there  can  be 
found  *  el  tigre  negro '  and  much  *  venado '  (game)  of 
all  kinds.     The  senor  should  go  there." 

•*  How  far  is  it  to  ride,  and  what  are  the  trails 
like?"  I  queried. 

Sabino  explained  that  it  was  only  about  a  day's 

45 


46  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

ride,  and  that  1  could  get  a  local  guide  and  supplies 
from  the  native  towns. 

A  day  later  I  met  an  American  naturalist  at  San 
Geronimo,  and,  as  he  was  interested  in  the  fauna  of 
the  country,  soon  asked  him  if  he  would  care  to 
accompany  me  upon  the  trip.  His  time  was  limited, 
and  he  could  only  spare  four  days,  as  he  had  to  join 
his  boss  (a  professor  of  some  college)  at  Tehuan- 
tepec ;  but  he  eagerly  availed  himself  of  my  offer, 
and  set  about  preparing  a  mule-load  of  specimen 
boxes  and  outfit. 

This  man,  whose  name  was  Jackson,  was  a  young 
American,  and  in  many  ways  typical  of  his  nation- 
ality ;  he  was  dead  keen  on  natural  history  and 
botany,  and  knew  his  subjects  thoroughly,  but  was 
completely  ignorant  of  most  other  matters,  and  did 
not  "  mix  well "  with  natives,  whom  he  disliked  as 
**  coloured,"  and  who  regarded  him  as  mad  as  a 
hatter.  I  found  him  a  pleasant  companion  for  a  four 
days'  trip,  but  could  not  have  stood  the  close  com- 
panionship of  the  trail  with  him  for,  say,  a  fortnight's 
work. 

Jos6,  my  boy,  soon  secured  horses,  and  these  were 
waiting  for  us  at  the  little  wayside  station,  and  were 
accompanied  by  their  owner,  who  would  act  as  our 
guide.  I  carried  my  -303  Savage,  and  lent  my  ball- 
and-shot  gun  to  Jackson,  whose  armament  was 
limited  to  a  revolver  and  that  fearsome  cannon — 


A  JUNGLE  HUNT  47 

the  American  six-shot  repeating  shot-gun.  These 
weapons  are  greatly  prized  by  Americans,  and  are 
remarkable  for  their  weight,  wicked  balance,  and 
enormous  noise  of  the  action,  which,  instead  of  the 
single  "  snick  "  of  a  respectable  English  gun,  says 
**  Snick-clack-clacketty-clacketty-chunk !"— a  special 
war-cry  of  its  own — every  time  the  breech  is 
operated. 

Travelling  was  slow,  as  Jackson  was  an  enthusiast, 
and  every  lizard,  iguana,  and  evil  insect,  had  to  be 
hunted,  and,  if  caught,  classified,  potted,  or  rejected, 
and  with  it  a  special  label  had  to  made  out  to  say 
where,  when,  and  how ;  mean  barometric  pressure, 
and  probable  winner  of  the  next  race ;  length  from 
nose  to  tail  when  alive,  when  dead ;  and  what 
it  might  have  grown  to,  or  something  of  the 
kind. 

He  knew  little  Spanish,  and  I  had  to  interpret 
for  him  :  he  wanted  the  native  name  of  everything 
in  sight.  When  you  ask  a  native  the  name  of 
any  special  kind  of  bird  he  never  knows,  but 
remarks,  "  Es  pajarito  !"  (It  is  a  bird !)  He  grew 
dissatisfied  with  Jose,  to  whom  he  was  a  source  of 
unending  amusement,  and  it  was  only  my  inter- 
ference that  prevented  the  probable  printing  in  a 
scientific  brochure  of  the  most  unseemly  Spanish 
words  as  the  correct  names  of  sundry  animals. 

We  halted  at  a  small  pueblo  for  lunch  and  to  rest 


48  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

during  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  I  engaged  the 
services  of  the  local  native  children  to  dig  out  an 
iguana,  some  "ratons"  (generic  name  for  any  rat- 
like animal),  tortoises,  and  other  small  fry.  We  had 
some  difficulty  in  getting  the  children  to  understand 
that  they  were  wanted  now  and  would  be  paid  for, 
and  soon  were  rewarded  by  a  visit  from  the  school- 
master. A  "  peso  "  to  him  secured  the  kiddies  a  half- 
holiday,  and  as  the  news  spread  that  Rothschild  and 
another  millionaire  were  in  the  village  paying  good 
money  for  uneatable  food,  in  a  few  minutes  the 
hunt  was  up. 

Armed  with  sticks  and  machetes  and  assisted  by 
all  the  native  curs,  the  local  Boy  Scouts  took  to  the 
bush.  Jackson  was  wild  to  accompany  them,  but  as 
I  did  not  care  to  chaperone  him  on  the  delicate 
subject  of  snakes,  scorpions,  and  poisonous  plants, 
I  refused  to  let  him  go  out  in  the  sun.  The  school- 
master stayed  with  us ;  he  was  a  very  decent  Indian, 
a  Zapoteco,  well  educated,  and  a  master  of  the  local 
Indian  dialect;  but  even  he  was  puzzitd  by  this 
hunting  of  useless  wildfowl. 

Soon  the  hunt  returned,  dribbling  in  in  twos  and 
threes,  laden  with  specimens — lizards  of  all  kinds, 
a  fat  grey-black  iguana,  tortoises,  and  two  or  three 
mice,  some  battered  snakes,  and  the  piece  de  resist- 
ance— a  jack  rabbit. 

Counselled  by  the  schoolmaster,  I  distributed  vast 


A  JUNGLE  HUNT  49 

wealth  in  "  centavos  "  to  the  fortunate  hunters,  and 
left  Jackson  to  classify  the  spoil. 

He  did,  and  suffered  much  from  fleas,  for  which 
he  blamed  the  jack  rabbit.  This,  by  the  way, 
turned  out  to  be  a  hare,  and  yellower  than  other 
specimens.  The  iguana  produced  lots  of  fun,  as 
Jackson,  knowing  it  was  harmless,  got  familiar  with 
it,  instead  of  holding  it  in  a  grass  noose  like  the 
natives  do.  Resenting  his  handling,  it  slapped  hard 
with  its  tail,  landing  him  across  the  face;  it  then 
scratched  badly,  and  got  away,  running  up  a  pole 
into  the  roof. 

At  last  Jackson  finished  with  his  zoo,  and  we 
saddled  up  to  resume  the  trail.  This  ran  through 
the  sandy,  reddish  scrub  country,  where  all  the 
plants  and  most  of  the  lizards  wore  spikes,  and  I 
was  able  to  point  out  some  of  the  peculiarities  of 
insect-life  to  Jackson.  One  bright  device  of  Nature 
is  a  thorny  tree,  a  species  of  acacia,  which  produces 
two  big  thorns  springing  out  of  a  bulb-shaped  knob, 
the  whole  rather  like  a  miniature  cow's  head.  These 
knobs  are  the  homes  of  a  special  little  ant,  reddish- 
yellowin  colour,  and  capable  of  causing  more  anguish 
than  any  other  insect  of  its  size.  These,  if  they  cross 
your  hand,  leave  a  bright  red  weal,  and  feel  exactly 
like  sparks  of  fire.  I  explained  this  to  Jackson,  who 
immediately  experimented  on  the  next  bush  we 
passed,  apparently  in  order  to  see  how  the  ants 

4 


50  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

lived  inside  the  knob.  He  was  badly  stung,  and 
began  to  appreciate  some  of  the  beauties  of  life  in 
the  Tropics. 

Late  that  evening  v^e  reached  Juchitan,  and  I  at 
once  set  on  foot  inquiries  about  the  black  tiger 
at  Cocoyule.  The  "jefe"  and  a  local  "rurale"  had 
heard  of  its  existence,  and,  after  a  liberal  consump- 
tion of  **  tepache  "  (fermented  pineapple  juice)  and 
"  tequila,"  gave  me  a  letter  to  the  headman,  ensuring 
to  me  the  goodwill  of  the  local  native  authorities. 

I  laid  in  a  few  tins  of  sardines  and  food  at  Juchitan 
from  a  store  kept  by  a  Chinaman,  and  returned  to 
find  Jackson  ready  for  his  supper.  He  did  not  take 
kindly  to  native  food,  and  being  a  scientist  was 
much  impressed  by  the  insanitariness  of  a  genuine 
native  town ;  also  the  lizards  in  the  banana-palm 
roof  worried  him. 

Cocoyule  was  our  next  stop,  and  the  "  Jefe  "  proved 
not  to  be  a  model  of  courtesy,  billeting  us  and  our 
horses  reluctantly.  The  "  tigre  negro  "  existed,  but  in 
the  *•  monte,"  and  was  seldom  seen,  as  he  lived  among 
the  *'  antiguas  "  (ruins).  I  detected  hesitancy  in  his 
manner,  and  soon  found  that  the  beast  was  a  kind  of 
local  deity,  if  not  entirely  fabulous,  so  I  announced 
that  we  were  going  to  look  at  the  "  monte,"  and  was 
successful  in  raising  a  native  hunter  as  a  guide. 
This  man,  who  answered  to  the  name  of  "  Chato  " 
(snub-nose),  was  clad  in  a  pair  of  jaguar-skin  bathing- 


A  JUNGLE  HUNT  51 

drawers  and  armed  with  a  muzzle-loading  gas-pipe 
gun.  I  told  Jose  to  pack  what  was  necessary  for  a 
night  in  the  jungle,  and  leaving  the  rest  of  the  kit 
behind,  we  started  without  telling  the  "  jefe  "  of  our 
intention  to  camp  the  night  amidst  the  Aztec  ruins. 

About  two  hours  before  dusk  we  arrived.  The 
ruined  city  was  not  visible ;  all  around  were  the 
bush-covered  hills,  without  a  trace  of  man's  handi- 
work, yet  the  very  mound  on  which  we  pitched  our 
camp  was  an  Aztec  teocalli,  and  the  stream  at  which 
we  got  our  water  was  the  water-supply  of  an  old 
and  vanished  city.  Chato  was  not  pleased  when  we 
insisted  upon  camping  there ;  he  had  had  his  orders 
from  the  "  jefe,"  but  our  obduracy  and  a  dollar  or  two 
bribe  quelled  his  scruples,  though  he  was  still  rather 
afraid  of  ghosts. 

Before  turning  in,  Jackson  shot  one  or  two  birds 
— none  of  them  good  to  eat — and  I  killed  a  "cascabel" 
(rattle-snake)  when  we  were  clearing  the  camp.  That 
night,  round  the  camp-fire,  I  learnt  some  queer 
hunting  facts  from  old  Chato,  who  explained  how, 
when  one  killed  an  animal,  the  head  must  be  buried 
after  being  offered  some  water — if  not,  you  would 
spoil  your  luck. 

We  turned  in,  and,  in  spite  of  nets,  passed  an 
insect-troubled  night. 

At  the  first  blush  of  dawn  we  were  up,  and, 
accompanying  Chato,  followed  a  winding  trail  beside 


52  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

the  stream  for  about  half  a  mile.  We  came  upon 
two  great  monoliths,  relics  of  some  Aztec  temple  or 
house. 

The  forest  teemed  with  bird-life,  and  Jackson  was 
with  difficulty  restrained  from  shooting;  but  as  I 
was  out  for  jaguar — black,  if  possible — I  did  not 
want  the  neighbourhood  scared. 

At  last  old  Chato  made  a  sign  to  us  to  halt,  and 
we  watched  his  brown  body  disappear  among  the 
bush.  Soon  he  reappeared  and  signalled  me  to 
follow  him.  As  silently  as  possible  I  did  so.  On  a 
boulder  near  the  stream  lay  a  jaguar,  apparently 
watching  the  reeds.  As  I  raised  my  rifle  he  rose 
on  his  fore-feet,  but  I  pressed  the  trigger,  and  he  was 
bowled  over  in  a  wild  flurry.  Hastily  jerking  in 
another  cartridge,  I  ran  forward,  and  from  a  safe 
distance  put  in  another  shot  that  finished  him. 

He  was  not  a  big  beast,  being  under  eight  feet 
from  tail  to  nose,  but  the  pelt  was  in  good  condition 
and  well  marked.  I  skinned  him  then  and  there, 
Chato  retaining  a  few  portions  of  his  interior 
economy  to  use  as  medicines  or  for  food ;  but  I  did 
not  follow  his  advice  to  cut  off  the  head  and  bury  it 
after  offering  it  a  drink!  Perhaps  that  is  why  I 
saw  no  black  jaguar,  though  Chato  whispered  to  me 
that  some  large  tracks  we  found  were  undoubtedly 
his. 

The  ride  back  was  one  of  modified  triumph.     I 


A  JUNGLE  HUNT  53 

had  a  jaguar,  though  not  a  black  one,  and  Jackson 
was  very  happy.  He  had  secured  an  insect,  rather 
like  a  diamond  or  lozenge-shaped  beetle,  with  a 
joint  in  its  middle.  If  you  put  it  flat  on  the  palm  of 
your  hand  it  would  suddenly  bend  up  and  straighten 
out  with  a  jerk  that  would  throw  it  several  feet. 
He  had  found  a  native  child  playing  with  it,  and, 
seizing  it  from  the  infant,  had  given  the  babe  half 
a  dollar. 

The  babe's  father  came  to  me  hurriedly. 

"  If  that  beetle  is  worth  fifty  cents,  it  is  worth  a 
dollar.  Why  steal  from  a  babe  ?"  quoth  he,  seeing 
hopes  of  more  wealth. 

I  had  great  trouble  in  explaining  that  Jackson 
was  *'  muy  rico  "  and  "  muy  loco  "  (rich  and  mad),  and 
that  the  bug  was  worth  nothing,  but  he  had  been 
pleased  to  buy  it  as  a  kind  of  medicine ! 

Thoroughly  satisfied,  the  father  departed ;  but  I 
could  not  help  but  admire  his  business  capacity. 

I  don't  think  that  that  bug  was  as  rare  and 
unknown  as  Jackson  thought.  He  promised  to 
write  and  let  me  know;  but  he  never  did,  and  I 
have  since  regretted  not  letting  him  compile  a 
Spanish  zoological  dictionary  as  composed  by  Jose, 
as  he  carried  off  my  screw-topped  salt  and  pepper 
box  as  a  receptacle  for  handy  specimens ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  RAILROAD  JOURNEY  IN  SOUTHERN  MEXICO 

Having  finished  my  exploration  trip  on  the  lagoons 
and  acquired  a  working  knowledge  of  Spanish,  I 
decided  to  leave  the  State  of  Chiapas  and  go  up  to 
the  city  of  Mexico.  Returning  to  Tapachula,  I 
collected  my  belongings,  packed  up  my  hunting 
trophies,  and  prepared  to  leave.  The  railroad  from 
Tapachula  is  the  Pan-American  line,  which  joins  the 
isthmus  route  at  San  Geronimo.  The  train  is 
scheduled  to  perform  its  journey  in  two  days,  but 
has  seldom  done  so. 

Having  made  my  farewells,  I  left  Tapachula  and 
went  down  to  the  railroad  station,  which  is  situated 
at  least  a  mile  from  the  town.  The  station  is  com- 
prised of  one  brick  building — a  combined  warehouse, 
telegraph  station,  ticket  office,  and  express  office. 
Outside  in  the  roadway  are  planted  heavy  wooden 
stakes — hitching-posts  for  the  horses,  who  stand  in 
the  sun  while  their  masters  and  all  the  local  loafers 
gather  round  the  station.  They  make  a  picturesque 
scene,  the  men  in  their  big  straw  sombreros,  smoking 
native  cigarettes,  while  the  women  chatter  and  bar- 

54 


A  RAILROAD  JOURNEY  55 

gain  for  fruit,  eggs,  and  tortillas;  for  the  railway 
station  is,  in  its  lazy  way,  a  small  market,  where 
the  third-class  passengers  can  purchase  food  for 
the  trip. 

The  train  is  already  waiting,  and  reminds  one  of 
the  Buffalo  Bill  shows  of  Europe  :  the  old-fashioned 
engine,  with  its  queer  funnel  and  clanging  bell  (a 
genuine  "  Baldwin,"  but  of  early  vintage,  finishing 
its  last  days  in  the  Tropics) ;  the  Indians  and  the 
**  rurales,"  all  variously  armed  and  accoutred ;  the 
passengers  ablaze  with  silver-embroidered  pistol- 
holsters  and  glittering  brass  cartridges,  are  all 
reminiscent  of  the  Wild  West  stories  of  one's  youth. 

The  rolling  stock  is  of  the  long  American  type, 
and  the  train  is  usually  a  "  composite  " — passengers 
and  freight  mixed — while  the  end  is  brought  up  by 
a  brilliant  yellow  express  waggon  for  valuable 
freight  and  mails. 

The  bell  clangs,  and  the  conductor  shouts 
furiously,  telling  the  passengers  to  get  aboard  ; 
so  we  leave  the  shade  of  the  station  veranda,  where 
we  have  been  reading  the  placards  of  rewards  for 
"  wanted  "  men — murderers  and  train  robbers — 
little  bills  with  a  picture  of  the  fugitive,  nearly 
always  taken  in  his  square-cut  sombre  Sunday 
clothes,  and  in  big  figures  above  his  head  the  blood- 
money  to  be  paid  to  anyone  delivering  him,  alive  or 
dead,  to  the  Wells  Fargo  Express  Company. 


56  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

The  third-class  passengers  get  into  one  end  of  a 
passenger  coach  and  the  first  into  the  other ;  a  thin 
partition  half-way  down  separates  the  classes.  The 
thirds  have  only  wooden  benches,  covered  with 
filth,  while  the  first  have  all  the  glory  of  cane  seats 
like  those  on  the  London  electric  railways.  These 
also  are  filthy  beyond  anything  in  Europe.  No 
English  workman  would  care  to  use  the  Pan- 
American  first-class  accommodation  for  half  an 
hour's  ride,  but  we  are  condemned  to  have  two 
days  of  it !  The  natives  take  with  them  a  few 
chickens  and  game-cocks;  dogs  and  babies  are 
plentiful.  All  these  people  prefer  to  squat  cross- 
legged  on  the  benches  in  preference  to  sitting  on 
them.  Chairs  are  unknown  in  Indian  villages.  The 
ticket  auditor  and  the  conductor  go  round  demand- 
ing tickets,  but  custom  demands  that  you  should 
travel  without  one  and  pay  the  conductor  half  the 
legal  fare.  Even  with  this  little  perquisite  the 
conductor's  job  is  not  one  that  is  much  sought 
after. 

The  heat  soon  gets  unbearable,  and  the  passen- 
gers lie  inert  on  the  blistering  seats,  drinking  tepid 
beer,  too  slack  to  read  or  smoke,  and  almost  un- 
conscious of  the  attacks  of  clouds  of  venomous 
mosquitoes  and  coffee  flies. 

All  the  stations  are  the  same—a  brick  building 
and  a  couple  of  native  huts  in  a  little  clearing  beside 


A  RAILROAD  JOURNEY  57 

the  line,  which  stretches  like  a  green  pathway 
through  the  jungle.  At  each  stop  a  crowd  of  native 
children  surround  the  cars,  and  rush  to  sell  their 
little  baskets  of  fruit — mangoes,  papayas,  and  zapotes. 
The  latter  is  a  queer  brown  fruit,  full  of  sweet,  cool 
pulp,  the  fruit  of  the  chicle,  or  chewing-gum  tree. 

The  journey  drones  on  through  the  same  scenery, 
and  the  train  slows  down  to  cross  the  little  culverts 
and  bridges.  Everybody  looks  anxious.  You  feel 
the  bridge  sink  and  tremble  beneath  you,  but  the 
train  crawls  across  without  its  collapsing.  The  con- 
ductor curses  the  construction  engineers,  and  tells 
stories  of  wrecks  that  have  occurred,  when  the 
sudden  rising  of  the  rivers  have  swept  away  the 
supports  from  beneath  the  bridges. 

We  are  timed  to  reach  a  native  town,  where  lunch 
can  be  procured  at  midday  ;  but  a  sudden  series  of 
bumps  and  rockings,  finishing  with  a  terrific  jolt  as 
the  train  comes  to  a  standstill,  announces  that  we 
have  run  off  the  line.  Everyone  gets  out  and  goes 
forward  to  look  at  what  has  happened,  while  the 
natives  raise  a  deafening  clamour,  and  fight  to  secure 
their  bundles  of  food.  The  engine  is  off  the  line, 
and  the  tender  and  first  coach  are  leaning  over 
at  a  dangerous  angle.  Underneath  you  can  see  the 
bent  rail  torn  up  from  the  sleepers,  but  the  powdery 
nature  of  the  wood  shows  why  this  has  happened. 
The  damp  earth  and  the  ants  have  rotted  some  six  or 


58  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  JMEXICO 

seven  sleepers  to  such  an  extent  that  the  engine's 
weight  had  forced  the  rails  apart  and  caused  the 
wreck. 

The  heat  is  merciless,  but  all  hands,  train  crew, 
natives  and  passengers  alike,  turn  to,  while  tools  are 
brought,  and  with  infinite  trouble  the  engine  is 
jacked  up  and  the  track  relaid.  The  sleepers  that 
we  put  under  the  jack  sink  into  the  soft  mould,  and 
everyone  strains  at  lifting  gear,  while  the  stinging 
sweat  runs  into  our  eyes,  and  the  mosquitoes  bite 
through  our  thin  garments. 

At  last  the  wreck  is  cleared  and  the  tools  stowed 
away,  the  conductor  shepherds  the  passengers  in, 
and  after  a  delay,  in  order  to  get  up  steam,  we 
proceed — three  hours  late. 

The  train  crawled  into  a  little  town  where  the 
passengers  were  supposed  to  feed  at  a  restaurant. 
This  splendid  and  ambitious  project — a  railway 
restaurant  in  Southern  Mexico — resolved  itself  into 
a  large  native  hut  set  with  a  few  tables  and  forms, 
and  superintended  by  a  Chinese  hotel-keeper  and 
cook. 

The  food  was  appalling  and  the  company  worse. 
Foreigners  and  Mexicans  sat  together  with  the  train 
officials,  the  engine-driver  and  his  fireman,  black 
with  dirt  and  bedewed  with  greasy  perspiration, 
were  not  nice  table  companions,  though  their  table 
manners    were    worth    watching.     The    meal    was 


A  RAILROAD  JOURNEY  59 

disgusting,  though  out  of  the  medley  of  filth  at  least 
the  eggs  and  the  rice  were  edible.  The  other  dishes 
were  seasoned  with  green  peppers  and  various 
sauces  dear  to  the  native  palate.  As  I  had  not  at 
this  time  acquired  the  asbestos  mouth,  common  to 
residents  in  the  Republic,  it  was  a  long  time  before 
I  could  find  food — tasteless  enough  to  eat. 

Before  we  had  half  finished  we  were  hustled 
away  and  on  board  the  train.  Our  driver  had  been 
slaking  his  thirst  with  copious  amounts  of  beer,  so 
when  I  heard  him  declare  he  would  make  up  time 

before  we  got  to  Tonala,  if  only  the (!)  engine 

held  together,  I  regretted  that  my  insurance  policy 
did  not  cover  travel  overseas.  It  was  dark  before 
we  reached  Tonala.  The  carriages  were  provided 
with  one  lamp  apiece;  the  chimneys  of  these 
lamps  were  choked  with  suicidal  insects  within  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  of  their  being  lighted,  so  in  the 
darkness  the  passengers  sat  and  smoked,  while  the 
shrill  war-song  of  the  mosquitoes  sounded  above 
the  noise  of  the  train. 

Tonala  was  reached  at  last.  Dead  tired,  we 
clambered  out  to  take  refuge  in  a  corrugated-iron 
hotel.  It  was  a  lovely  night,  the  food  was  iron  and 
the  beds  corrugated,  but  after  the  exercise  I  had  in 
the  wreck  I  slept  like  a  log.  The  servants  woke  us 
before  dawn,  for  the  train  was  to  pull  out  early.  I 
was  still  very  tired,  but  I  did  not  delay  catching  the 


6o  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

train,  the  prospect  of  two  days  to  wait  before  another 
train  came  in — if  it  ever  did — was  too  heavy  a  risk. 

We  had  not  got  far  on  our  journey  before  we 
were  halted  by  a  construction  train  in  front  of  us. 
They  brought  us  nice  news — all  traffic  was  tempor- 
arily suspended !  It  appeared  that  a  local  Indian 
township  had  suddenly  hit  upon  a  new  scheme  for 
raising  money.  The  idea  was  ingenious,  and  it 
consisted  in  arresting  all  the  railroad  employes 
in  their  territory  for  non-payment  of  taxes,  the 
Indian  Jefe  Politico  claiming  that,  as  they  were 
within  his  grounds,  they  were  assessable.  The 
local  police  had  arrested  the  whole  of  the  native 
labour  in  the  construction  camp,  and  were  now 
arguing  the  matter  with  the  white  engineers,  who 
were  making  the  telegraph  wire  red-hot  with 
appeals  to  headquarters.  We  obeyed  orders  and 
kept  outside  the  trouble  zone  till  the  news  came 
down  the  line  that  all  was  clear.  I  heard  later  that 
the  railwaymen  had  dealt  with  the  matter  personally, 
and  that  the  Indian  town  was  rather  sore. 

About  midday  we  reached  another  **  railroad 
hotel,"  and  the  food  was  as  bad  as  the  last  Chinese 
joint,  though  this  establishment  was  kept  by  the 
most  amazingly  well-developed  Indian  woman  I 
have  ever  seen.  She  was  a  cheery  hostess,  but  her 
cooking  was  frankly  impossible. 

The   track  grew   better   beyond   this   point,   for 


A  RAILROAD  JOURNEY  6i 

ballast  had  been  laid  between  the  sleepers.  The 
country  grew  less  fertile  until  we  ran  into  the  State 
of  Oaxaca,  where  the  land  is  very  much  poorer  than 
in  Chiapas,  more  resembling  the  worthless  isthmus 
country.  Without  further  incident  we  reached 
San  Geronimo,  where  the  terminal  of  the  line  is 
situated,  and  where  the  Pan-American  joins  the 
Tehuantepec  railroad  system.  It  was  a  relief  to  see 
a  real  railroad  once  again,  and  the  English  engines 
(the  Isthmus  road  is  run  by  British  capital)  seemed 
quite  home-like. 

San  Geronimo  is  notable  by  reason  of  its  brewery, 
to  which  the  majority  of  the  first-class  passengers 
paid  a  hasty  visit.  It  says  much  for  American  and 
Teutonic  enterprise  that  such  a  blessed  gift  as  beer 
can  be  obtained  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place.  I 
am  aware  that  the  above  sentiment  does  not  seem 
strictly  in  accordance  with  the  views  of  Exeter  Hall, 
but  in  a  country  where  water  is  pregnant  with 
typhoid,  and  there  is  little  to  drink,  mild  bottled  beer 
has  saved  many  lives,  as  it  is  about  the  only  pure 
drink  one  can  obtain. 

At  dusk  the  train  from  Salina  Cruz  came  into  the 
station,  and  I  was  able  to  get  direct  into  a  Pullman 
sleeping-car,  scheduled  through  to  Mexico  City. 
The  change  from  the  Pan-American  system  was 
marked.  One  can  have  no  idea  of  the  exquisite 
luxury  an  ordinary  Pullman  sleeping-car  can  afford 


62  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

until  one  has  travelled  on  a  line  whose  stage  of 
development  and  whose  rolling  stock  is  of  the 
pattern  common  in  Western  America  forty  years 
ago. 

Two  nights  and  a  day  in  the  train,  climbing  from 
the  fertile  valleys  of  the  Tropics  to  the  cold  plateau, 
and  then  the  drop  down  into  Mexico  City,  where  I 
arrived  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LIFE  IN  MEXICO  CITY 

The  new-comer's  first  impressions  of  the  City  of 
Mexico  are  usually  rather  vague.  The  traveller 
suddenly  leaves  the  wild  country  of  the  Tropics  and 
enters  a  zone  of  barren  mountains ;  then,  descend- 
ing to  a  parched  plain,  arrives  in  a  city  which,  at 
first  sight,  seems  almost  French. 

I  have  heard  Mexico  City  compared  to  Paris,  to 
Constantinople,  to  Ispahan,  and  to  Washington. 
Practically  speaking,  it  has  not  the  faintest  resem- 
blance to  any  of  them,  taken  as  a  whole,  but  the 
wanderer  can  find  many  scenes  and  groups  of  archi- 
tecture that  seem  to  have  been  transplanted  bodily 
from  any  capital  you  choose  to  name. 

Mexico  is  a  city  of  palaces — an  architect's  paradise, 
and  at  the  same  time  despair,  for  the  soil  is  bottom- 
less mud.  Foundations  are  absorbed  with  such 
rapidity  that,  if  great  care  is  not  taken,  by  the  time 
a  house  is  built  it  has  settled  till  the  ground-level  is 
higher  than  the  floor.  All  big  buildings  are  hope- 
lessly out  of  plumb,  and  great  cracks  appear  in  their 
walls.     The  frequent  earthquakes  that  shake    the 

63 


64  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

valley  also  tend  to  distort  the  buildings  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  big  structures  of  the  city  have  all  a 
distinct  variation  from  the  perpendicular. 

The  earthquakes  are  a  feature  of  life  in  Mexico 
City,  but  you  soon  get  used  to  them.  The  first 
earthquake  I  experienced  occurred  when  I  was  at 
the  top  of  a  three-story  building.  I  was  writing  at 
a  table,  when  I  suddenly  felt  deadly  sick — the  same 
feeling  that  occurs  when  a  lift  descends  too  fast. 
Rather  concerned,  I  briefly  reviewed  what  I  had 
eaten,  imagining  that  I  was  plagued  with  a  sudden 
turn  of  biliousness. 

While  still  reflecting  over  the  phenomenon,  I 
noticed  the  electric  light  swinging  violently,  and  the 
true  explanation  occurred  to  me.  Going  to  the 
window,  I  looked  out  into  the  street.  It  was  a 
remarkable  scene.  Men,  women,  and  children  had 
rushed  out  into  the  open  and  were  praying  strenu- 
ously. One  of  the  overhead  wires  of  the  tramway 
had  snapped,  and  the  end  struck  out  blue  flashes  as 
it  swung  against  the  iron  support.  Everybody  had 
remained  exactly  as  they  were  when  the  shock  com- 
menced. In  a  few  seconds  the  motion  ceased,  and 
they  got  up  from  their  knees  and  began  to  discuss 
the  "tremblor."  Little  damage  was  done,  and  the 
incident  was  only  accorded  a  short  paragraph  in  the 
evening  papers. 

Mexico  City  is  essentially  cosmopolitan.   It  boasts 


LIFE  IN  MEXICO  CITY  65 

of  clubs  for  every  nationality,  and  one  sees  a 
foreigner  to  every  ten  Mexicans  in  its  street.  The 
big  hotels  are  crowded  with  tourists,  and  attract 
as  well  the  enormous  brigade  of  adventurers  who 
make  Mexico  their  happy  hunting-ground. 

In  the  lobbies  of  the  uncomfortable  American- 
style  hotels  you  will  find  all  kinds  of  men — the 
specious  concessionaire  (everybody  in  Mexico  has 
something  in  the  way  of  a  concession,  and  only 
needs  a  little  capital  to  be  a  millionaire),  the  rubber 
expert  or  company  director,  who  has  come  out  from 
England  and  acquired  a  few  hundred  acres  of  jungle 
which  he  proposes  to  palm  off  on  the  confiding 
British  public  as  suitable  for  growing  rubber,  point- 
ing out  to  the  credulous  that  it  adjoins  a  well-known 
rubber  estate,  etc. 

If  Mexico  had  to  depend  on  its  own  products  for 
rubber  goods,  a  pair  of  goloshes  would  be  worth 
many  hundred  dollars. 

There  is  a  certain  station  in  the  south  of  Mexico 
near  which  grew  a  large  rubber-tree  surrounded  by 
jungle.  An  enterprising  photographer  cleared  the 
surrounding  bush,  and  made  a  large  amount  of 
money  by  producing  nominally  amateur  photographs 
of  "Our  Director,"  and  "Mr.  So-and-so,  our 
Manager,"  standing  beneath  a  natural  rubber-tree 
on  the  company's  estate.  These  nice  little  groups 
— directors,  managers,  etc.— backed   by  mules  and 

5 


e^  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

white-clad  servants  in  native  hats,  are  a  godsend  to 
the  cheery  promoter. 

I  hold  no  shares  in  Mexican  rubber,  principally 
because  I  have  been  to  Mexico  and  seen  the  process 
of  running  a  *' rubber  plant."  All  that  you  need  is 
an  acre  or  two  of  rubber  carefully  raised  from  seed  to 
a  height  of  six  feet.  If  you  have  more  than  one  acre 
or  two  acres  it  costs  you  so  much  in  labour  to  keep 
the  plantation  free  of  weeds  and  insects  that  you  lose 
your  money,  so  you  keep  down  to  the  two  acres,  and 
sell  it  and  the  surrounding  land  to  a  company,  with 
the  help  of  a  **  rubber  expert."  A  rubber  expert  is  a 
man  who  has  written  something  about  rubber.  The 
degree  of  rubber  expert  is  self-conferred.  There 
are  lots  of  them  in  Mexico  City,  who  will  report  on  a 
plantation  for  a  five-dollar  bill  and  the  price  of  the 
elaborately  headed  notepaper  necessary. 

Mining  propositions  are  as  frequent  as  rubber 
plants,  and  sunburnt  men  with  beautiful  "  speci- 
mens "  and  assayers'  reports  await  the  unwary  in 
every  hotel  bar.  However,  some  of  their  schemes 
bear  fruit.  Mining  is  always  a  gamble  as  opposed 
to  the  certainty  of  rubber. 

"  Land  "  is  the  next  industry,  and  a  very  profitable 
one.  All  land  in  Mexico  which  has  no  private 
owner  who  can  produce  correct  title-deeds  is  the 
property  of  the  Government.  Enterprising  com- 
panies have  bought  large  tracts  of  virgin — and  mostly 


LIFE  IN  MEXICO  CITY  67 

worthless  — land  from  the  Mexican  Government. 
Having  surveyed  and  cut  this  up  into  lots,  it  is 
offered  at  a  price  well  above  its  value  to  any  indi- 
vidual who  wishes  to  establish  a  ranch.  A  ranch 
is  an  agricultural  proposition  not  necessarily  imply- 
ing cattle  or  horses.  You  can  find  sugar  ranches, 
hen  ranches,  and  coffee  ranches ;  the  latter  are 
usually  called  "  finkas,"  and  most  of  the  coffee  land 
has  been  bought  up  years  ago — now  it  has  depre- 
ciated in  value. 

An  American  improvement  on  the  land  business 
was  the  Colonization  Scheme,  by  which  emigrants 
were  to  enjoy  a  pastoral  life  in  which  the  ideas  of 
the  Utopia — the  Garden  of  Eden — were  to  be  prac- 
tically applied,  and  eventually  translate  them  to 
the  Heaven  of  Millionairedom.  Hundreds' of  poor 
families  were  induced  to  leave  the  States  of  the 
Middle  West  and  emigrate  to  occupy  the  "desirable 
lots  "  of  the  land  companies.  They  found  the  same 
conditions  still  prevailed  in  South  Mexico  that  the 
original  settlers  in  Darien  had  to  contend  with.  The 
issue  was  much  the  same. 

Fever,  lack  of  money,  lack  of  labour  (for  in  that 
country  personal  field  work  on  the  part  of  the  white 
man  is  impossible),  no  knowledge  of  local  conditions, 
no  help  from  the  treacherous  companies,  all  combined 
to  destroy  the  scheme.  Colonization  was  a  failure, 
and  the  poor  broken  creatures  who  had  left  their 


6S  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

homes  in  the  States  to  found  a  new  one  in  Old 
Mexico  eventually  wandered  back,  absolutely 
ruined,  only  the  little  private  graveyards  and  the 
rusted  useless  northern  field  machinery  remaining 
in  the  jungle  to  show  that  they  had  been. 

I  have  seen  sales  of  ''settlers'  and  homesteads' 
effects  "  left  at  one  of  the  Mexican  Custom-houses. 
It  was  terribly  pathetic,  the  big  deal  packing-cases 
with  their  poor  contents :  the  little  household 
things  of  the  settlers — crockery,  babies*  clothes, 
packets  of  seeds,  and  little  home-made  things  like 
knitted  comforters;  the  family  Bible  and  a  few 
books  of  the  Sunday-school  type — some  of  them 
prizes — ^all  carried  to  the  new  home  in  glorious 
Mexico ! 

The  land  companies  are  not  all  bad,  but  in 
Mexican  eyes  they  must  be  very  similar;  they 
never  get  prosecuted. 

The  respectable  foreign  residents  in  Mexico  City 
have  a  saying  that  nobody  comes  to  Mexico  who  has 
not  been  everywhere  else  first,  and  that  most  of 
those  w^ho  come  are  not  desirable.  This  is  rather  a 
hard  statement ;  but  it  is  not  customary  to  inquire 
into  a  stranger's  past:  it  is  a  country  of  great 
politeness. 

With  reference  to  the  British  element,  most  new- 
comers have  their  station  well  defined  by  the  nature 
of  the  position  that  they  occupy  and  the  salary  they 


LIFE  IN  MEXICO  CITY  69 

draw  in  connection  with  the  big  British  engineering 
and  mining  firms.  But  the  man  who  arrives  without 
letters  of  introduction  and  valuable  qualifications 
stands  little  chance  of  getting  a  job.  The  letters 
themselves  are  no  good ;  a  letter  of  introduction  in 
Mexico  means,  "  Please  give  bearer  a  square  meal  " 
— nothing  more. 

The  British  paterfamilias  has  a  great  habit  of 
sending  out  his  offspring,  passage  paid,  with  fifty 
pounds  and  an  outfit,  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the 
earth.  This  is  understood  as  "  practical  imperialism," 
the  theory  underlying  it  being  that  barbarous 
countries  thousands  of  miles  away  will  pay  large 
salaries  to  Cecil  and  Harold  for  the  privilege  of 
enjoying  their  services.  The  result  is  that  the 
world  is  dotted  with  the  useless  products  of  our 
public  schools  and  Universities,  and  for  every  one 
that  "  makes  good  "  hundreds  fall  by  the  wayside. 

It  is  dreadful  to  contemplate  the  number  of  decent 
Englishmen  belonging  to  the  professional  and  upper 
middle  classes  who  are  to  be  found  earning  a  bare 
living  wage  amidst  the  most  appalling  surroundings, 
and  with  no  future  before  them.  They  can  never  earn 
enough  to  support  a  wife  and  family,  and  can  never 
be  sure  of  a  permanent  situation.  When  I  hear  of 
Tom  and  Bill  **  doing  well "  in  Canada,  it  calls  up  to 
my  mind  a  picture  of  Tom  (pass  B.A.  Oxford  !) 
digging  in  a  railroad  trench  between  a  Pole  and  a 


70  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

Swede,  while  Bill  (ex-Lieutenant  cavalry)  chops 
wood  on  a  small  farm. 

The  British  parent  has  yet  to  learn  that  in  the  New 
World  and  the  Colonies  it  is  the  highly  specialized 
expert  who  earns  money,  and  the  fellow  who  will 
**take  any  job  that  he  can  get"  is  already  represented. 
Sometimes  they  starve  or  go  to  the  devil ;  more  often 
they  die  lonely  deaths — fever,  dysentery,  and  acci- 
dents. Occasionally  they  live  on  the  boundless 
charity  of  their  fellow-countrymen  abroad,  but  seldom 
do  they  draw  any  dividend  on  their  expensive  and 
useless  education. 

To  succeed  in  Mexico  you  need  special  knowledge 
of  a  trade  or  profession,  a  good  knowledge  of  Spanish, 
a  sufficiency  of  capital  for  your  enterprise,  and  at 
least  a  year's  experience  of  the  country  before  you 
invest  a  penny  of  it. 

There  is  little  social  life  in  the  city :  it  is  the 
usual  small  community  where  gossip,  scandal,  and 
the  most  recent  death  form  the  staple  conversation. 
The  death-rate  is  enormous,  and  illness  the  rule 
rather  than  the  exception.  Outside  of  the  Corps 
Diplomatique,  and  a  few  of  the  older  residents 
unconnected  with  trade,  there  is  no  social  life. 

On  the  part  of  the  Mexicans  there  is  no  informal 
social  life  such  as  one  finds  in  England  or  the  States. 
Mexican  ladies  spend  most  of  their  time  in  dressing- 
gowns,  and   are  not   prepared   to  receive  visitors 


LIFE  IN  MEXICO  CITY  71 

except  on  State  occasions.  A  call  on  them  is  usually 
rather  a  long  process  and  deadly  humorous. 

Having  arrived  at  your  destination — a  big  house 
standing  in  its  own  grounds — you  ring  the  bell 
outside,  and  after  a  few  minutes  a  sleepy  native 
appears.  In  response  to  your  inquiry  whether 
your  victims  are  in,  he  replies,  "Ah!  who  can 
tell?  I  will  go  and  see."  He  looks  at  you  with 
surly  suspicion,  and,  still  leaving  you  outside  the 
locked  gate,  disappears  to  the  back  of  the  house. 
Five  minutes  elapse,  and  then,  with  much  drawing 
of  bolts  and  chains,  the  front  door  opens,  and  a 
butler  in  plain  clothes,  hastily  dragging  on  a  coat, 
appears  and  unlocks  the  garden  gate.  You  are 
escorted  inside  and  led  into  the  "  sala "  (the  draw- 
ing-room), a  grotesque  apartment,  upon  which 
much  money  and  no  taste  has  been  expended.  He 
withdraws  and  you  examine  your  surroundings. 

The  furniture  is  expensive,  probably  French,  and 
the  floor  is  possibly  linoleum,  on  which  side  by  side 
are  a  good  Persian  and  an  impossible  Kidderminster 
rug.  There  are  a  few  good  pictures  and  valuable 
ornaments,  and  a  host  of  ghastly  photographs  of 
the  family,  and  shilling  knick-knacks.  The  chairs 
are  arranged  all  round  the  walls,  and  a  sofa  is  at 
the  end  of  the  room — this  is  the  seat  of  honour,  and 
to  be  avoided. 

Eventually  your  hostess  arrives,  obviously  only 


72  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

just  that  minute  dressed,  and  finally  the  whole 
family  come  down  and  are  presented.  The  company 
range  themselves  along  the  wall  and  gaze  at  you 
while  you  try  to  make  conversation.  Calls  in 
Mexico  are  regulated  by  an  elaborate  system  of 
etiquette,  and  once  in  the  **  sala  "  you  cannot  escape 
under  the  regulation  half-hour.  The  minutes  drag 
on  and  on,  and  your  conversational  subjects  are  by 
now  exhausted,  principally  because  your  hostess 
has  no  ideas  of  conversation  beyond  "  Yes  "  and 
**  No  "  and  "  Perhaps — who  knows  ?" 

At  last  a  servant  arrives,  bearing  the  equivalent 
of  afternoon  tea — cups  of  thick  native  chocolate, 
flavoured  with  cinnamon,  and  sugary  biscuits,  some- 
what after  the  style  of  meringues.  They  are  also 
things  that  it  is  well  to  avoid.  They  fall  to  pieces 
all  over  you  at  a  touch. 

Mexicans  are  kindly,  hospitable  folk,  but  they 
have  the  old  Spanish  traditions,  and  are  conse- 
quently about  two  hundred  years  behind  modern 
manners.  Foreign  ladies  regard  Mexican  women 
as  hopeless,  unless  they  have  been  educated  abroad. 
Foreign  men  are  liable  to  blunder  when  they  first 
arrive,  as  Mexican  ladies  invariably  use  a  good  deal 
of  paint  and  powder,  and  their  native  love  of  colour 
and  fine  clothes  renders  it  difficult  for  the  foreigner 
to  distinguish  between  the  European  *'  demi-mon- 
daine"  and  the  Mexican  "haute-monde." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"L0,»  THE  POOR  INDIAN 

The  Mexican  Indian  is  a  hard  proposition  to  under- 
stand, and  is  divided  into  two  distinct  classes  by 
the  Mexicans  themselves — "gente  de  Razon"  and 
"cerrados";  that  is  to  say,  reasonable  people  who 
can  think  and  "  locked-up  ones,"  with  whom  it  is 
waste  of  time  to  argue,  as  they  cannot  follow  a  line 
of  thought. 

"  Cerrados  "  preponderate,  and  it  is  maddening  to 
work  with  them,  as  for  sheer  unadulterated  cussed- 
ness  and  pig-headed  stupidity  they  are  beyond 
competition.  Suppose  you  are  in  camp  about 
twenty  miles  from  a  big  township,  and  natives 
carrying  on  their  backs  big  loads  of  pottery  are 
passing  along  your  trail  daily.  For  some  reason 
you  need  pottery,  so  you  stop  a  laden  native  and 
propose  to  buy  part  or  all  of  his  stock  for  a  much 
higher  price  than  he  will  get  in  the  town.  The 
Indian  refuses  to  sell,  pleading  that  **no  es  el 
costumbre  "  (it  is  not  the  custom).  You  can  talk  till 
you  are  blue  in  the  face,  pointing  out  the  advantages 
of  selling  for  a  higher  price,  the  lightened  load,  and 

73 


74  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

the  obvious  soundness  of  the  scheme,  but  never  a 
pot  will  he  sell,  because  he  is  absolutely  unable  to 
think  in  logical  sequence.  In  the  end  he  does  not 
want  to  think,  and  so,  without  moving  a  muscle  of 
his  face,  he  first  sponges  out  all  trace  of  expression 
and  remains  smiling  or  sulky,  his  face  and  eyes  an 
absolute  blank.  To  get  good  work  out  of  these 
people  needs  infinite  patience  and  tact — in  fact,  it  is 
just  like  training  a  wild  animal. 

Their  ideas  as  to  proportion  and  distance  are 
hopeless;  they  seem  incapable  of  expressing  any 
idea  of  distance — for  instance,  a  five-mile  journey 
may  be  described  as  **  cerca  "  (near  by),  "  muy  lejo  " 
(very  far),  "un  pedacito"  (a  little  step),  or  **  todavia 
falta  algo  "  (it  still  want  some).  The  despair  of  the 
anxious  stranger  confronted  with  unknown  distances 
and  trails,  and  dependent  upon  native  information, 
is  absolutely  bottomless. 

In  order  to  ensure  a  certain  amount  of  accuracy, 
the  Government  have  ordered  lists  of  distances  to 
be  put  up  in  all  the  local  prefectures ;  these  tables 
are  always  very  full  and  hopelessly  inaccurate. 

Superstition  is  still  rampant,  and  everywhere 
survivals  of  paganism  occur.  Although  nominally 
a  Catholic  country,  the  Indian  Catholicism  is  purely 
a  form  of  idol-worship,  and,  in  spite  of  prohibitions, 
clay  gods  are  to  be  found  side  by  side  with  pictures 
and  shrines  to  the  Virgin  in  most  of  the  native 


*'L0,"  THE  POOR  INDIAN  75 

churches,  while  sacrifice  and  propitiation  of  local 
deities  take  many  forms. 

The  passing  of  Halley's  comet  caused  a  wave  of 
reversion  to  paganism  among  the  natives,  and  often 
sacrifices  were  made  secretly  outside  the  church. 
I  myself  came  across  one  such  offering.  Upon  a 
tortilla  spiked  to  the  ground  with  agave  thorns  lay 
the  head  of  a  white  cock  and  its  heart,  the  latter 
transfixed  with  a  thorn.  Round  the  tortilla  was 
arranged  in  a  circle  the  intestine  of  the  sacrifice, 
and  near  by  was  a  gourd  of  water. 

Often  during  the  time  of  the  comet  white  resi- 
dents in  the  Mexican  interior  saw  the  natives 
leaving  for  the  secret  groves  in  the  bush  where  the 
ceremonies  were  to  be  held.  The  men  wore  plumed 
head-dresses  and  were  painted  like  skeletons  with 
white  clay,  and  all  night  the  mysterious  ceremonies 
continued,  but  no  white  was  allowed  to  witness 
them.  Afterwards  queer  stories  of  missing  children 
were  current,  and  it  is  an  undoubted  fact  that  two 
girls  were  sacrificed  to  the  alligator  gods  of  the 
lagoons. 

Nowhere  do  the  old  superstitions  hold  so 
strongly  as  in  the  death  and  burial  rites ;  these  are 
openly  pagan  and  *'  los  Muertos."  All  Souls'  Day — 
the  feast  of  the  dead — is  one  of  the  greatest  festivals 
of  the  year.  The  markets  are  crowded  with  booths, 
selling  sweets  shaped  like  skulls  and  coffins,  and 


76  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

an  endless  variety  of  baked  clay  and  pasteboard 
horrors,  skull  and  skeleton  pins,  etc.  These  are 
for  the  children,  to  remind  them  of  death,  but  are 
really  symbols  of  the  old  worship  of  Teomique, 
the  Goddess  of  Death. 

All  day  during  the  feast  the  people  go  out  to 
picnic  in  the  Dolores  Cemetery,  where  they  lay 
out  tables  adorned  with  skulls,  candles,  and  holy 
water,  and,  dressed  in  sombre  black,  enjoy  a  picnic 
upon  their  relatives'  graves. 

Funerals  among  the  natives  are  great  "  fiestas," 
and  one  of  the  most  striking  sights  of  Mexico  City, 
for  the  Dolores  Cemetery  is  connected  up  by  tram, 
and  all  funerals  must  be  carried  by  the  electric  car 
route.  These  motor-hearses  are  imposing  black- 
canopied  trucks,  with  a  table  for  the  coffin,  and  are 
followed  by  a  special  car,  provided  free  for  the 
mourners.  For  expensive  funerals  and  children, 
white  hearses  and  cars  can  be  obtained ;  but  the 
black  ones  are  usual,  and  can  be  seen  every  day. 
They  are  nicknamed  "cucaruchas"  (cockroaches), 
or  burying  beetles,  by  the  cheerful  natives,  and, 
indeed,  the  sight  of  these  hearses  travelling  at 
about  thirty  miles  an  hour  does  little  to  suggest 
the  dignity  of  death. 

Children  are  sometimes  laid  out  in  state  upon 
a  board,  dressed  in  white  cerements,  and  rouged 
and  painted  to  resemble  hfe,  festooned  in  flowers 


*'L0,"  THE  POOR  INDIAN  n 

and  gilt  paper.  They  are  carried  to  the  grave,  put 
into  coffins  in  which  tortillas,  money,  and  possibly 
little  charms  have  been  stowed,  then  buried  while 
rockets  are  fired  to  heaven  by  the  mourners  to 
announce  the  departure  of  the  child-soul. 

After  all,  Mexicans  set  little  value  on  life,  and  a 
funeral  party  resembles  for  cheerfulness  a  blend 
of  picnic  and  of  Irish  wake,  and  middle-class 
graves  are  only  hired  for  seven  years;  after  that 
the  deceased  is  dug  up  and  his  bones  stowed  in 
a  cellar,  while  the  grave  is  let  to  someone  else. 
Probably,  as  corpses  are  usually  buried  in  evening 
dress,  or  in  their  best  clothes,  they  think  that  with 
the  burial  and  an  occasional  picnic  on  the  grave, 
the  deceased  is  having  as  much  notice  taken  of 
him  as  is  necessary. 

Native  medicine  men  and  women  keep  up  the  old 
superstition,  and  are  great  students  of  astrology  and 
successful  in  defeating  the  evil  spells  of  witches. 
Toothache  is  cured  by  applying  a  patch  of  snake- 
skin  or  prepared  black  plaster  to  the  temple,  and 
filthy  brews  of  various  herbs  and  insects  are  taken 
for  all  known  diseases.  Moles  and  bats  and  por- 
tions of  the  smaller  animals  are  much  in  demand 
for  anaemia  and  love-philtres,  while  weird  amulets 
and  spells  may  be  purchased  to  defeat  the  evil-eye 
or  cure  the  spells  of  witches. 

Witchcraft  is  universal,  and  may  be  divided  into 


78  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

two  classes — good  and  evil.  White,  or  good 
witches,  influence  the  local  weather  and  cure 
cattle ;  they  also  tell  you  when  to  plant  seeds  and 
at  what  time  of  the  moon  to  transplant  seedlings. 

Black  witches,  however,  poison  and  bewitch 
cattle,  overlook  children,  and  blight  the  crops, 
besides  setting  spells  on  objects  of  their  dislike, 
causing  them  to  waste  away. 

One  victim  of  witchcraft  that  I  saw  was  really 
suffering  from  an  advanced  case  of  phthisis; 
another,  a  coachman,  whose  horses  had  been  be- 
witched, had  tied  up  their  heads  in  red  flannel. 
He  was  dismissed  when  this  artistic  effort  was  dis- 
covered by  his  irate  master,  who  did  not  believe 
in  the  anti-witch  efficacy  of  red  flannel. 

Scattered  all  over  the  Republic  are  vast  family 
estates  controlled  from  a  large  headquarters,  called 
the  hacienda.  These  are  the  equivalent  of  the 
castles  of  feudal  times,  and  the  whole  atmosphere 
of  the  estate  is  feudalism  pure  and  simple. 

The  haciendas  themselves  are  enormous  historic 
buildings  of  adobe  and  stone,  and  bear  everywhere 
the  mark  of  ecclesiastical  influence.  With  walls 
whose  thickness  reminds  one  of  grey  Norman  keeps 
among  the  English  uplands,  and  their  vast  court- 
yards and  chapels,  endless  passages  of  ill-lighted 
rooms,  and  clusters  of  farm-sheds  and  offices,  the 
whole    swarming  with   dependents  and   retainers. 


'*  LO,"  THE  POOR  INDIAN  79 

one  is  transported  at  once  into  a  medieval  atmo- 
sphere, where  the  greatness  of  the  "  patron  "  and 
the  word  of  the  priest  control  all  human  interests, 
lay  and  spiritual. 

The  very  scent  of  the  air  is  a  blend  of  farm 
smells  and  incense,  and  within  the  hacienda  every 
room  has  its  shrine  to  the  Virgin,  and  in  the  evening 
tolls  the  clanging  chapel  bell.  The  peons  who 
work  the  hacienda  land  work  on  peculiar  terms — 
they  own  no  free  land,  not  even  the  patch  on 
which  they  build  their  huts ;  all  is  lent  to  them, 
and  each  man  has  to  work  for  the  hacienda  for  an 
allotted  number  of  days ;  on  others  they  work 
their  own  small  patch. 

The  village  shop — no  competition  is  allowed — is 
the  property  of  the  hacienda,  and  there  the  peon 
must  buy  everything,  even  the  bare  necessities  of 
life.  At  some  haciendas  the  principle  still  obtains 
of  paying  the  people  no  money,  but  allowing  them 
credit  at  the  store.  This  plan  is  popular,  as  it  makes 
the  men  virtually  slaves,  and  the  hacienda  is  sure  of 
effective  labour  supply,  particularly'as  the  **ventena" 
—  the  ranch  police — have  plenary  powers,  and,  like 
everything  else,  belong  to  the  hacienda. 

The  whole  system  is  a  marvel  of  Christianity, 
economy,  and  feudal  organization.  The  Indians 
have  to  pay  in  kind  for  the  ground  they  till,  as  well 
as  working  perpetually  for  the  hacienda  for  its  rent ; 


8o  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

thus  the  proprietor,  the  haciendado,  lives  fatly  and 
does  nothing  except  distribute  through  his  agent 
and  his  underlings  a  very  little  charity,  and  carefully 
selected  education.  It  is  all  most  feudal — and  most 
damnable. 

The  haciendado  is  the  local  deity  and  can  do  no 
wrong,  so  under  him  flourish  all  the  beauties  of  the 
old  feudal  system,  which  the  English  nation  abolished 
with  Magna  Charta  and  a  Reformation,  yet  the 
people  who  do  these  things  are  often  gentlemen — 
natives  educated  in  Europe  and  frequently  related 
to  quite  good  Spanish  families.  Personally  they  are 
kind  and  hospitable,  yet  the  hacienda  evil  goes  on, 
and  they  are  content  to  let  it  be  as  it  is,  and  wonder 
why  it  is  that  revolutions  happen. 

Apart  from  this  state  of  oppression  and  servitude, 
the  life  of  the  natives  at  the  better  regulated  of  the 
haciendas  is  not  so  bad.  All  their  industry  is  centred 
in  the  hacienda,  where  wheelwrights,  smiths,  copper- 
smiths, millers,  carpenters,  masons,  and  other  trades 
are  continually  employed. 

Fiestas  and  saints'  days  are  regularly  observed  as 
holidays,  and  then  the  peons  show  the  lighter  side 
of  their  nature,  and  turn  out  the  local  musicians  for 
a  "  baile,"  or  dance.  Some  of  these  dances  are  sur- 
vivals of  religious  or  historical  ceremonies,  and  are 
danced  in  the  most  fearsome  of  carved  masks, 
decorated  with  horns,  tufts  of  hair,  and  teeth.    These 


*'LO,"  THE  POOR   INDIAN  8i 

masks  are  communal  property,  and  on  certain  saints* 
days  a  set  form  of  dance,  representing  the  stalking 
and  killing  of  various  animals,  such  as  the  stag  and 
the  jaguar,  is  carried  out  as  a  means  of  expiating 
vows  to  the  special  saint  whose  day  it  is. 

The  ceremony  is  much  debased,  and  usually  ends 
in  more  or  less  of  an  orgie,  as  the  hard  work  makes 
the  dancers  thirsty,  and  the  drink  increases  their 
licentiousness.  For  this  reason  the  local  authorities 
do  not  welcome  the  attendance  of  strangers  at  these 
functions. 

Dancing  at  these  *'  bailes  de  hacienda"  is  a  thorough 
process.  All  weapons  must  be  discarded  and  left  in 
charge  of  the  cloak-room  keeper,  though  the  stranger 
will  be  well  advised  to  keep  a  small  but  loaded 
weapon  of  some  kind  concealed  about  him,  leaving 
the  larger  and  more  obvious  revolver  and  belt  at  the 
gate.  Inside  the  baile  shed  is  congregated  the  local 
populace,  old  and  young;  the  men  in  their  best  charro 
suits  and  the  girls  in  their  finest  rebosos.  The 
musicians  are  usually  a  fiddler  or  two,  helped  out  by 
exponents  of  weird  local  tom-toms  and  flutes.  In 
the  far  South  marimbas  played  by  four  players  are 
the  local  equivalent  for  the  Pink  Hungarian  Band. 

The  music  is  mixed  :  barbarous  Mexican  national 
airs  and  the  ever-present  "Viuda  Alegre"  ("The 
Merry  Widow  ").  This  tune  haunted  me  from  Fez  in 
North  Africa  to  the  southernmost  parts  of  Mexico, 

6 


82  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

where  it  had  just  become  the  rage  when  I  arrived,  and 
to  its  irritating  strains  I  have  watched  dances  of  all 
kinds  and  more  weird  versions  of  the  waltz  than  ever 
its  composer  is  likely  to  see. 

Men  and  maidens  dance  in  pairs  opposite  one 
another,  executing  the  difficult  and  intricate  Spanish 
dances — La  Jota  and  the  Bolero — with  wonderful 
grace ;  while  at  intervals  a  Tropic  version  of  the 
waltz  is  danced.  The  fiery  Mexican  blood  leads  to 
trouble  over  partners,  and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing 
to  see  a  quarrel  end  fatally,  both  parties  resorting 
to  the  use  of  the  knife,  over  some  real  or  fancied 
sHght  at  one  of  these  bailes. 


CHAPTER  X 

FANTASTIC   FOOD 

One  of  the  most  fascinating  things  in  the  world  is 
exploring  other  people's  cookery ;  but  it  takes  nerve 
to  plunge  into  a  gastronomic  voyage  of  exploration 
in  Mexico. 

Of  course,  the  staple  food  is  the  tortilla,  and  the 
seasoning  for  everything  is  chilli  and  garlic.  If 
there  was  a  failure  in  the  chilli  crop  the  Mexican 
nation  would  take  cold  and  die  in  a  month. 

One  day,  when  I  was  properly  acclimatized  to 
chillies,  I  asked  a  Mexican  student  to  take  me  out 
to  a  genuine  dinner  of  native  food.  He  was 
absolutely  horrified  at  my  passion  for  low  life ;  but 
eventually  seeing  prospects  of  causing  me  acute 
anguish  and  possibly  nausea,  consented,  specifying, 
however,  that  we  should  not  feed  at  a  restaurant, 
but  off  itinerant  hawkers  in  the  streets,  and  at  low 
eating-houses. 

The  first  treat  was  "  enchiladas,"  a  weird  confec- 
tion of  cheese,  garlic,  and  onion,  and  a  liberal  dose 
of  chilli  sauce,  the  whole  enclosed  in  a  neatly  folded 
tortilla.     The  ancient  dame  who  sold  these  was  a 

83 


84  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

mass  of  rags,  and  apparently  spent  most  of  her  time 
sitting  over  her  brazier — a  bucket  of  live  coals  with 
a  tin  plate  on  top — peacefully  slumbering.  Ruth- 
lessly friend  Pascual  woke  her,  and  she  started  in 
to  do  business. 

Wishing  to  ascertain  if  the  stove  was  in  going 
order,  she  spat  on  top  of  it,  and,  instantly  reassured 
by  a  gratifying  sizzle,  planked  down  on  the  plate 
two  ready  prepared  enchiladas,  which  she  warmed 
up  for  us. 

Pascual  had  his  eye  on  me,  and  I  was  too  proud 
to  draw  back — I  ate  that  enchilada.  Really  it  was 
not  so  bad,  but  I  could  not  help  thinking  what  a 
splendid  qualifying  examination  it  would  make  for 
a  professional  fire-eater.  Gasping  from  the  heat  of 
the  pepper,  I  demanded  drink :  **  Pulque !"  said 
my  inexorable  custodian — "you  must  have  some 
pulque." 

Pulque  was  not  known  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Old  World;  if  it  had  been,  it  would  have  been  in- 
cluded among  the  plagues  of  Egypt ;  it  still  is  one 
of  the  plagues  of  Mexico.  This  liquor  is  the  fer- 
mented juice  of  the  maguey  plant,  and  is  brought 
into  Mexico  City  every  morning  by  train-loads. 

All  round  the  city  are  the  endless  fields  of  magueys 
planted  in  rows.  These  plants  are  known  in  Europe 
as  *•  century  plants,"  because  they  so  seldom  flower  ; 
when  they  do,  they  send  up  a  huge  spike  like  a 


FANTASTIC  FOOD  85 

hop-pole,  which  if  left  bursts  into  a  blaze  of  clustered 
blossom  at  the  top.  To  energize  this  wonderful 
efflorescence  the  plant  lies  quiet  for  several  years, 
and  when  it  is  about  to  commence,  the  pulque- 
gatherer  cuts  a  hole  about  eight  inches  in  diameter 
in  the  base  of  the  plant,  utilizing  the  stored  energy 
of  the  plant  to  produce  the  pulque  liquor.  In  this 
hole  the  juice  collects  ;  it  is  called  "  agua-miel,"  and 
resembles  honey-water  with  a  bitterish  after-taste. 
A  peon  collects  this  by  sucking  it  up  into  an 
"acojote"  (a  flask-shaped  gourd),  the  thin  neck  of 
which  he  pushes  into  the  juice  while  he  sucks  a 
hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  flask. 

From  the  gourd  it  is  put  into  a  goat-skin,  which 
he  carries  on  his  back,  and  transferred  to  the  pulque 
hacienda,  where  it  is  put  into  tubs  and  fermented  by 
the  addition  of  a  specified  quantity  of  already  sour 
pulque  and  rennet,  which,  as  a  rule,  is  solemnly 
blessed  by  the  priest  before  addition. 

Rennet,  be  it  known,  is  sour,  putrid  cow's  stomach, 
and  the  resulting  properly  fermented  pulque  is  the 
most  revolting  drink. 

The  scent  of  the  stuff  is  awful,  like  the  worst 
kinds  of  cheese  blended  with  the  sour  alcoholic 
scent  of  stale  bar-rooms. 

All  pulquerias,  or  saloons,  where  it  is  sold,  reek 
of  it,  and  all  peons  love  it  and  smell  of  it  too.  A 
pulqueria   is   the  dreariest  drinking-booth   in   the 


86  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

world.  Imagine  a  single  room  with  no  windows,  the 
walls  painted  with  the  name  of  the  saloon,  **  El 
Azteco"  or  **  La  Reforma  de  la  Constitucion " — 
anything  inappropriate  and  in  many  cases  Biblical, 
such  as  "  El  Sagrado  Corazon  de  Jesu."  The 
decorations  are  strings  of  paper  ribbons  and  rows 
of  jugs  and  glasses.  There  are  no  seats,  no  comfort, 
and  such  is  the  cheapness  of  the  Hquor  that  the 
peon  can  get  properly  drunk  for  threepence.  Men, 
women,  and  children  all  drink  this  filth,  and  will 
pawn  or  steal  anything  to  get  it. 

Pulque  is  responsible  for  nine-tenths  of  the  crime 
in  Mexico  City,  but  as  the  shares  of  the  pulque 
trust  are  held  by  the  leading  officials,  it  will  be  long 
before  it  is  abolished. 

We  drank  pulque — it  was  beastly,  and  I  had  to 
confess  that  Pascual  had  scored. 

Undeterred  by  this  temporary  defeat,  we  prose- 
cuted our  search,  and  turned  into  a  native  eating- 
house  in  the  San  Lazaro  quarter.  Our  entry  caused 
a  sensation,  but  I  explained  the  reason  of  my  pres- 
ence, and  became  painfully  popular.  Advice  was 
showered  upon  us,  and  the  wife  of  the  restaurant- 
keeper  even  went  to  the  length  of  providing  a  piece 
of  cotton  as  a  table-cloth.  I  inquired  if  they  could 
procure  axolotl,  and  saw  Pascual  wince,  for  these 
are  newts,  a  special  kind  of  water-lizard  that  only 
lives  among  the  waterways  of  Xochimilco. 


FANTASTIC  FOOD  87 

A  boy  was  hastily  despatched  to  the  market,  but 
luckily  returned  empty-handed — axolotl  were  off. 

We  started  in  on  "huevos  y  arros" — eggs  and 
rice.  This  is  a  typical  Mexican  dish,  and  is  really 
excellent,  though  the  rice  is  seasoned  with  dried 
shrimps,  and  frequently  produces  the  worst  kind  of 
ptomaine-poisoning.  Then  came  the  staple  Mexican 
dish,  "  frijoles "  (brown  beans  served  in  a  thick 
glutinous  brown  sauce  flavoured  with  cheese,  and 
eaten  by  scooping  them  out  on  to  a  toasted  tortilla). 
Forks  are  not  used ;  one  lifts  the  frijole  dish  to  one's 
mouth  and  from  it  one  scoops  the  tortillas.  It  is 
bad  manners  to  speak  or  put  it  down  before 
finishing  it,  but  as  much  noise  is  made  with  the 
mouth  as  possible — this  shows  you  like  it. 

As  a  crowning  delight,  "  mole  de  guajalote  "  was 
served.  For  this  dish,  turkey  and  chilli  sauce,  a 
Mexican  will  commit  murder.  I  am  almost  inclined 
to  think  it  worth  while,  for  the  combination  is 
delightful,  particularly  in  a  climate  where  nothing 
in  the  way  of  meat  is  tender. 

Pascual  was  pleased  with  my  approval  of  Mexican 
dishes,  but  rather  grieved  that  I  had  not  suffered 
more ;  but  he  excused  this  by  saying  that  none  of 
these  dishes  were  really  "piquante,"  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  chew  green  pepper  as  hot  as  the  edge  of 
the  Pit  to  prove  it. 

On  a  later  expedition   I   consumed   such   weird 


88  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

delicacies  as  "  tortuja  steak"  (turtle  meat)  and 
baked  armadillo;  but  these  are  only  for  Mexican 
epicures,  they  are  not  the  food  of  the  peons. 
Frijoles,  tortillas,  green  corn,  and  sugar-cane  as  a 
treat,  are  his  staple. 

Meat  is  a  rarity,  and  hot  meals  come  but  seldom 
during  the  month ;  this  possibly  accounts  for  their 
lack  of  energy  and  doubtful  power  of  resistance  to 
disease,  for  the  vegetarian  white  man  is  an  even 
easier  prey  to  disease  in  the  Tropics  than  even  the 
heavy  flesh-feeder ;  it  is  always  the  moderate  people 
who  survive. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AZTECS  AND   RUINS 

When  you  first  project  going  to  Mexico  you  natur- 
ally begin  to  think  about  the  Aztecs,  and,  as  a  rule, 
confuse  them  and  Cortez,  Drake,  and  the  Incas  of 
Peru  into  a  vague  blend  of  sixteenth-century  Latin- 
American  romance.  Eventually  you  separate  out 
Cortez  and  the  Aztecs  as  genuinely  Mexican,  and 
comfort  yourself  with  the  idea  that  when  you  get 
there  you  will  know  all  about  them.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  you  only  learn  about  Cortez,  because  nobody 
knows  anything  about  the  Aztecs. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  were  some  Aztecs,  but 
that  was  only  just  before  the  Conquest,  and  they 
were  merely  a  military  tribe — certainly  not  the 
people  who  are  responsible  for  the  vast  prehistoric 
ruins  that  cover  all  Mexico  and  Guatemala.  Now- 
adays "Aztec"  remains  is  the  name  given  to  all 
these  monuments  of  a  bygone  civilization,  which 
were  really  built  by  the  Toltecs.  This  word 
"  Toltec"  is  nearly  as  bad  as  '*  Aztec,"  because  nobody 
knows  who  the  Toltecs  were,  except  that  they  pre- 
ceded the  Aztecs!     Authorities  differ  and  advance 

89 


90  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

theories,  but  nobody  knows  definitely  whether 
these  so-called  Toltecs  were  the  aboriginals  of  the 
Mexican  plateau,  whether  they  were  the  original 
of  the  Aztec  race,  whether  they  came  from  the 
North  or  the  South,  or  whether  they  ever  existed 
at  all !  The  latter  theory  is  now  popular,  several 
scientists  having  proved  that  the  vanished  Toltecs 
are  as  fabulous  as  their  gods;  but  no  one  knows 
who  built  the  ruins !  For  the  plain  person  who  is 
content  to  call  these  people  "  Aztecs  "  and  avoid  the 
archaeologists,  there  is  any  amount  of  interest  in 
the  Aztec  question. 

From  Mexico  City  to  far  Yucatan  the  country 
is  studded  with  their  temples  and  "teocalis,"  or 
pyramids.  These  were  originally  large  mounds  of 
clay  and  adobe  bricks,  built  in  terraces ;  but  as  the 
Spaniards  wrecked  all  the  temples  and  forbade  the 
religion,  they  are  now,  unless  in  tourist  localities, 
mere  scrub  and  tree-covered  hills  amid  the  jungle. 

The  fanaticism  of  the  priests  destroyed  all  the 
popular  up-to-date  temples  where  the  Mexicans 
were  still  carrying  on  paganism,  but  luckily  they 
did  not  bother  to  destroy  ttie  prehistoric  temples 
that  had  been  abandoned  and  were  no  longer 
popular;  apparently,  as  they  were  not  used  they 
were  not  dangerous. 

Having  decided  that  nobody  knows  who  built 
the  temples  and  initiated  the  worship  of  Quetzal- 


AZTECS  AND  RUINS  91 

coatl  (the  Morning  Star),  we  get  to  when  were 
they  built?  This  point  is  still  doubtful,  but  we 
get  more  help  from  the  fact  that  these  Aztecs  had 
invented  a  calendar,  and  with  it  dated  most  of 
their  monuments.  Unfortunately  they  have  left 
no  reliable  record  of  when  they  started  this  calen- 
dar— no  zero,  no  year  One.  Around  this  calendar 
the  whole  of  Aztec  civilization  revolved.  Every 
day,  every  hour  had  its  name  and  its  special  deity 
and  significance,  and  all  the  spiritual  and  adminis- 
trative life  of  the  Empire  was  regulated  by  this 
marvellous  system.  The  year  was  260  days  long, 
and  was  divided  up  into  twenty  names,  or  day 
signs,  each  of  which  occurred  thirteen  times  during 
the  year  :  thus,  January  the  first  might  be  Flower- 
day  the  fourth,  and  January  the  second  Wind-day  the 
second.  You  would  not  come  across  another  Flower- 
day  till  somewhere  in  the  middle  of  February. 

Briefly,    every  day    had    its    special  name   and 
number,  the  names  or  signs  for  the  days  being : 


1.  Cipactli,  the  Crocodile. 

2.  Eecatl,  the  Wind. 

3.  Calli,  the  House. 

4.  Cuetzpalin,  the  Iguana. 

5.  Coatl,  the  Snake. 

6.  Misquitzli,  the  Skeleton. 

7.  Mazatl,  the  Stag. 

8.  Tochtli,  the  Rabbit. 

9.  Atl,  the  Water. 

10.  Istzquintli,  the  Dog. 

11.  Ozomatli,  the  Monkey. 


12.  Mallinalli,    the    Twisting 

Herb. 

13.  Acatl,  the  Reed. 

14.  OcelotI,  the  Jaguar. 

15.  CuanhtH,  the  Eagle. 

16.  Cozcacuahtli,  the  Vulture. 

17.  Olin,  the  Rolling  Ball. 

18.  Tecpatl,  the  Flint. 

19.  Cuianitl,  the  Rain. 

20.  Xochitl,  the  Flower. 


93  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

The  actual  civil  year  consisted  of  365  days,  so 
the  260  calendar  overlapped  into  next  year  by  105 
days,  and  they  were  not  aware  of  Leap  Year ;  the 
result  was  that  the  feasts  were  always  getting 
badly  mixed,  and  New  Year's  Day  was  as  mov- 
able as  our  Easter.  The  Aztecs  occasionally 
missed  out  a  bit  of  time  in  order  to  catch  up  and 
straighten  things  up,  but  as  they  left  no  record  of 
these  calculations  all  their  dates  are  no  use,  and 
cannot  be  calculated  out  in  ordinary  years.  But  it 
is  assumed  that  the  earliest  known  monuments  at 
Palenque  date  from  a.d.  700  to  a.d.  800. 

A  few  codices,  or  Aztec  books,  are  still  preserved, 
and  some  of  these  have  with  them  translations 
done  into  Aztec  speech  by  Spanish  monks,  but 
written  in  Roman  characters  ;  thus  we  know  some- 
thing of  Aztec  theology  and  tradition. 

All  Aztec  writing  was  picture-writing,  and  the 
codices  are  long  books  of  leather,  or  agave  paper, 
covered  with  a  wonderful  series  of  coloured  con- 
ventional pictures. 

The  Aztec,  or  native,  languages  are  still  current 
in  Mexico,  and  they  are  not  in  the  least  alike  in 
words  or  pronunciation,  and  exceed  some  eight 
hundred  known  languages  exclusive  of  local 
dialects ! 

Most  of  them,  however,  have  very  limited  vocab- 
ularies, and  depend  upon  inflections  of  the  voice. 


AZTECS  AND  RUINS  93 

As  theorists  are  for  ever  identifying  the  Aztecs 
with  the  Chinese,  the  ancient  Egyptians,  survivors 
of  Atlantis,  Mongolian  Tartars,  and  the  lost  tribes 
of  Israel,  they  have  no  difficulty  in  picking  a  few 
words  out  of  most  of  the  eight  hundred  languages 
and  proving  that  their  theory  is  correct.  Personally 
I  am  on  the  side  of  the  natives,  and  say  with  them, 
*'  Quien  sabe  ?" 

Dead  cities  in  the  jungle  are  only  good  for  the 
archaeologist  or  the  hunter,  and  much  more  satis- 
faction is  to  be  got  out  of  a  well-known  place, 
easily  accessible  and  properly  explained. 

Teotihuacan  is  only  a  few  miles  from  Mexico 
City,  not  particularly  tourist-ridden,  and  accessible 
by  railroad,  where  are  the  two  great  pyramids  of 
the  sun  and  moon,  the  remains  of  the  citadel  and 
the  Road  of  the  Dead. 

The  two  pyramids  are  now  scrub-covered  and 
somewhat  disappointing,  though  the  sun  pyramid 
contains  a  little  stone  chamber ;  from  the  top  a 
good  view  of  the  plain  is  commanded,  and  all 
round  one  can  see  the  traces  of  a  once  populous 
city,  now  nothing  but  little  mounds  of  earth.  The 
Road  of  the  Dead,  a  causeway  over  a  mile  long 
and  about  seventy  paces  wide,  is  still  guarded  on 
either  side  by  ramparts  of  pedregal  lava  stone,  on 
which  are  the  remains  of  little  houses  and  tombs. 
These   have  all    been  rifled  of   their  relics ;  but 


94  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

plenty  are  still  for  sale,  for  the  Indians  seldom 
plough  a  field  or  dig  the  foundations  of  a  house 
without  finding  quantities  of  little  clay  Aztec  heads 
and  pottery. 

Good  genuine  specimens  can  be  purchased  in 
Teotihuacan  village,  though  occasionally  frauds  are 
palmed  off  upon  the  unwary,  as  the  natives  possess 
moulds — themselves  antiques — from  which  they 
turn  out  modern  replicas  of  the  originals. 

In  the  big  towns  and  in  the  city  quantities  of 
faked  antiques  are  for  sale,  but  they  are  easily 
detected,  being  for  the  most  part  clumsily  made ; 
at  the  same  time,  really  good  curios  of  all  kinds  can 
be  picked  up  dirt-cheap  in  the  pawnshops  and  the 
Thieves'  Market — this  health  resort,  though  nothing 
to  do  with  Aztecs,  is  well  worth  a  visit,  as  good 
Aztec  curios  can  be  found  there,  as  well  as  more 
modern  but  more  valuable  prizes.  At  one  corner 
of  the  Zocalo  is  this  Thieves'  Market,  where  upon 
stalls  is  laid  out  the  most  tempting  array  of  old 
junk  that  the  mind  of  the  curio-hunter  can  conceive  : 
armour,  swords,  curios,  saddlery,  sewing-machines, 
pictures,  pottery,  flat-irons,  and  junk.  One  can 
buy  anything  from  a  steam-engine  to  a  second-hand 
teething-ring  at  knock-down  prices,  but  it  means 
hard  and  determined  haggling,  and  never  give  more 
than  half  the  price  demanded. 

The  Indians  are  clever  at  faking  curios  ;  one  tried 


AZTECS  AND  RUINS  95 

to  sell  me  a  spear — "late  property  of  Cortez  el 
Conquistador!"  —  a  beautiful  weapon  that  looked 
remarkably  deadly  and  medieval.  It  was  composed 
of  the  point  of  a  modern  bayonet  set  into  the 
inverted  conical  base  of  a  brass  candlestick,  the 
whole  mounted  on  a  brass  nail-studded  spear-shaft. 

He  was  not  in  the  least  abashed  when  I  discussed 
the  manufacture  of  the  weapon  with  him,  but  he 
gave  me  a  valuable  insight  into  what  people  who 
should  know  better  will  buy  to  take  home. 

It  is  sometimes  useful  to  know  of  a  curio-shop 
where  prices  are  moderate  and  the  goods  really 
genuine ;  one  at  least  I  can  recommend,  and  that  is 
the  **  Aztec "  Curio  Store,  corner  of  Gante.  The 
owner  is  a  keen  antiquary,  and  trades  direct  with 
the  natives,  encouraging  them  to  keep  to  the  old 
Aztecs'  methods  of  dyeing  and  weaving  Zerapes 
and  to  eschew  aniline  dyes.  The  result  is  that  his 
goods  are  sound  and  durable,  where  the  cheap 
machine-made  stuff  will  never  stand  wear,  sunlight, 
or  washing. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ARMS    AND   THE  ARMY 

The  Mexican  army  is  recruited  from  the  criminal 
classes,  officered  from  the  lower  middle  and  equipped 
by  the  upper;  the  result  is  sublime  comic  opera 
varied  by  touches  of  tragedy. 

When  a  person  has  committed  a  few  prominent 
crimes  of  violence  and  the  local  **  jefe  politico  "  can 
extort  no  more  money  from  the  malefactor's  relations, 
the  "  jefe  "  is  forced  to  adopt  the  last  resort,  and  sends 
him  to  join  the  battalion  for  a  term  of  years,  thus 
ridding  the  "  pueblo  "  of  his  presence  and  relieving 
the  feeling  of  law-abiding  citizens  by  encouraging 
patriotism. 

The  strength  of  the  standing  army  was  fixed  at 
30,000  men,  backed  by  a  reserve  of  28,000  and  a 
second  reserve  of  150,000.  These  were  divided 
into  1 20,000  foot,  20,000  cavalry,  and  6,000  artillery, 
no  provision  being  made  for  transport,  ammunition, 
and  supply  columns,  such  matters  as  transport  and 
commissariat  being  solved  by  the  process  of  com- 
mandeering and  living  on  the  country. 

The  whole  arrangement  of  the  War  Department 

96 


ARMS  AND  THE  ARMY  9; 

was  splendidly  Mexican.  At  the  top  were  eminent 
generals,  whose  war  service  dated  from  the  revolu- 
tionary days ;  below  them  came  a  crowd  of  well- 
taught  young  officers  who  had  been  cadets  at  St.  Cyr 
or  West  Point,  and  studied  at  European  war  schools. 
The  cadets  at  Tlalpam  were  taught  the  goose-step, 
but  the  men  were  armed  with  "  Porfirio  Diaz " 
rifles — a  single  shot,  native-made,  bastard  Remington 
action — firelock!  Some  of  the  better  battalions 
were  equipped  with  1901  7-millimetre  calibre 
Mausers,  but  were  never  taught  to  use  them 
properly.  The  artillery  were  nominally  equipped 
with  Schneider-Canet  mountain  guns  of  a  very 
modern  type,  but  more  often  than  not  old-fashioned 
Krupps  and  obsolete  black- powder  Armstrongs 
were  the  real  weapon.  As  for  the  machine-guns, 
they  embraced  every  pattern  and  every  calibre 
from  the  mitrailleuse  of  1870  to  the  five-barrelled 
American  i-inch  bored  Gatling,  from  hopper-fed 
Hotchkiss  volley-firers  to  modern  Maxims ;  but 
there  was  no  standard  weapon  and  little  effective 
ammunition  reserve. 

It  is  often  stated  that  the  Mexican  army  is  equipped 
with  the  Mondragon  automatic  rifle,  and  "gun- 
sharps  "  in  Europe  were  interested  to  hear  how  the 
automatic  behaved  under  real  service  conditions. 
I  have  often  been  asked  about  it,  and  take  this 
opportunity  of  explaining  once  and  for  all  that  none 

7 


98  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

of  the  troops  were  armed  with  the  Mondragon. 
This  rifle,  which  I  had  the  privilege  of  examining,  is 
not  automatic — that  is  to  say,  gas  or  recoil  operated  ; 
its  only  approach  to  this  is  that  by  setting  the  "  safety 
bolt "  to  a  certain  position,  the  mere  closing  of  the 
bolt  fires  the  cartridge  without  any  touching  of  the 
trigger,  the  inventor's  idea  being  to  secure  a 
volume  of  rapid  fire  for  unaimed  use  at  close 
quarters. 

The  cartridge  used  in  the  Mondragon  is  peculiar, 
consisting  of  a  square-shouldered,  rimless  cartridge 
into  which  the  conical  bullet  of  -22  calibre  is  deeply 
sunk.  The  whole  design  of  the  rifle  is  bad,  though 
interesting  from  the  point  of  view  of  novelty.  It 
has  no  good  points  of  design,  ballistics,  or  practi- 
cability to  recommend  it,  being,  as  it  is,  in  every  way 
a  good  ten  years  behind  modern  European  practice. 

The  mounted  Gendarmerie  are  armed  with  a  queer 
repeating  carbine,  made  by  Piepers  of  Liege.  It  has 
revolving  chambers  like  a  revolver  and  a  wood- 
encased  barrel.  The  whole  action  is  similar  to  a 
double-action  side-ejecting  revolver,  but  it  is  a 
splendid  weapon  for  police  use,  the  calibre  (about 
•38)  making  it  an  efficient  stopping  weapon,  and  the 
low  velocity  and  slight  penetration  enabling  it  to  be 
used  in  streets  without  danger  to  the  occupants  of 
dwelling-houses.  The  police  also  carry  the  frontier 
pattern  Colt  revolver  of   '44  calibre,   though   the 


ARMS  AND  THE  ARMY  99 

officers  of  the  army  are  armed  with  the  '38  automatic 
Colt. 

When  on  trek,  Mexican  soldiers  are  accompanied 
by  their  women-folk — "  the  soldaderas."  These  are 
responsible  for  the  comfort  and  feeding  of  their  men, 
and  carry  along  with  them  bundles  of  tortillas,  and 
wretched  fowls  slung  head  downward  to  their 
girdles.  They  are  expert  thieves,  and  are  not 
popular  with  the  country-folk. 

The  most  striking  forced  in  Mexico  are  the  Rurales, 
the  celebrated  Rural  Police.  After  the  Maximilian 
troubles  the  country  was  overrun  with  bandits,  and 
as  the  forces  of  law  and  order  could  not  cope  with 
them,  Diaz  called  many  of  the  leaders  together  and 
suggested  that  they  should  be  organized  into  a 
mounted  police,  something  on  the  lines  of  the  English 
irregular  colonial  forces.  They  were  promised  good 
pay  and  a  free  hand,  and  realizing  the  benefit  they 
joined  at  once. 

It  took  but  a  little  time  to  eliminate  "bando- 
lerismo,"  and  soon  the  roads  were  safe.  The  Rurales 
do  not  often  take  prisoners  ;  the  latter  always 
attempt  to  escape  and  are  always  "shot  while 
escaping."  Discipline  of  an  irregular  kind  is  perfect, 
and  the  Rurale  is  honest  and  reliable,  but  a  bad  man 
to  quarrel  with.  The  uniform  is  a  modification  of 
the  picturesque  *'charro"  costume  of  the  native 
vaqueros,  and  consists  of  a  short  jacket  of  grey 


icx)  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

cloth,  tight-fitting  trousers  to  match,  silver-braided 
facings,  and  silver-braided  grey  sombreros,  bearing 
the  initials  of  their  State.  They  are  armed  with 
Remington  carbines  carried  slung  across  the  back, 
Colt  revolvers,  loose  over  the  right  hip,  and  a  machete 
attached  to  the  saddle. 

The  saddle  is  of  the  usual  Mexican  type.  This 
varies  according  to  the  part  of  the  Republic  in  the 
shape  of  its  horn,  but  always  maintains  the  same 
structural  characteristics.  To  a  wood  frame  carved 
from  the  solid,  panels  are  attached,  and  the  whole 
covered  with  cured  raw  hide,  making  a  clumsy  but 
very  strong  and  heavy  tree.  Between  the  panels  is 
left  a  wide  space  to  accommodate  the  horse's  withers, 
and  the  whole  tree  is  covered  in  housings  of  carved 
leather  and  fitted  with  wide  stirrup-leathers  (adjust- 
able by  laces),  ending  in  clumsy  leather-covered 
wooden  stirrups  ("  tapaderos  "). 

Behind  the  cantle  are  carried  two  wallets,  and  all 
metal-work  and  bosses  are  of  silver.  The  cinches, 
or  girths,  of  which  there  are  two,  are  made  of  plaited 
horse-hair,  as  are  the  bridle  and  picketing  rope. 
The  lariat  is  usually  raw  hide  or  manila,  and  is 
carried  round  the  horn  or  pommel. 

Mexican  spurs  and  bits  are  always  of  blued  steel, 
inlaid  with  silver,  and  very  large  and  severe  in 
appearance.  Actually  they  are  not  at  all  cruel, 
because  the  horses  are  ridden  more  by  bridle-rein 


•  •     *• 


A    COLONEL    OF    RURALE8 


ARMS  AND  THE  ARMY  loi 

than  on  the  mouth,  and  as  the  saddles  are  so  cum- 
brous, no  leg  pressure  can  reach  the  horse,  so  a 
long  spur  is  necessary.  A  good  pair  of  Mexican 
spurs  should  ring  to  the  same  note,  and  really  good 
ones  are  worth  much  money — four  or  five  pounds 
being  by  no  means  an  unusual  price  to  pay, 

A  European  horseman  will  find  the  Mexican 
saddle  abominable,  it  needing  an  entirely  different 
seat  to  that  to  which  he  is  used.  To  ride  for  long 
on  one  means  great  discomfort,  as  the  seat  is 
usually  too  wide  for  one's  fork,  and  the  stirrups  so 
narrow  as  to  only  partially  admit  the  European 
boot.  The  English  saddle  is  of  little  use  in  mountain 
country,  as,  having  only  one  girth,  it  moves  forward 
and  backward  upon  inclines.  The  best  pattern  is  a 
good  American  double-cinch  stock  saddle,  weighing 
about  thirty-six  pounds. 

The  extra  weight  is  distributed  about  the  horse's 
withers,  and  is  easier  for  him  than  the  best  English 
models,  besides  seldom,  if  ever,  causing  sore  backs. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ART  AND  THE  NATIVES 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  things  about  the 
Mexican  is  his  wonderful  artistic  bent.  From  the 
earliest  days  sculpture,  painting,  and  music  have 
flourished,  and  marvellous  jewellery  and  pottery 
have  been  made  by  uncultured  Indians. 

In  the  Maya  monuments  of  Yucatan  expression 
has  been  converted  into  a  most  cast-iron  symbolism. 
For  instance,  the  sign  for  jaguar  has  been  reduced 
to  a  jaguar's  ear  with  the  unmistakable  rosette 
spot.  It  is  astonishing,  but  there  is  nothing  more 
wonderfully  expressive  than  just  this  ear;  it  strikes 
you  at  once,  and  is  absolutely  unmistakable.  They 
seem  to  have  started  on  lines  similar  to  the 
Futurists  and  Post-Impressionists  of  to-day,  and 
then  rendered  down  and  down  till  they  arrived  at 
the  jaguar's  ear  as  a  complete  expression.  It  rather 
leads  the  unprejudiced  observer  to  wonder  if  our 
most  modern  art  will  end  up  in  conventional  hiero- 
glyphics in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  inventors  to 
break  away  from  convention. 

I02 


ART  AND  THE  NATIVES  103 

After  the  Spanish  occupation,  when  the  clerics 
had  finished  demoHshing  native  art,  they  imported 
artists  from  Spain  to  fill  their  churches  and  establish 
schools  of  more  or  less  clerical  art.  These  were 
not  wildly  successful;  but  as  much  money  was 
spent  on  European  pictures  for  the  churches,  an 
imitation  Flemish  school  sprang  up,  of  which 
samples  still  exist.  With  the  development  of  the 
mineral  wealth  of  the  country  a  craze  for  the 
importation  of  art  works  set  in,  and  Mexico  imported 
Italian  and  Spanish  masters  as  cheerfully  as  the 
Chicagoans  do  to-day. 

Titians,  Tintorettos,  and  Riberas,  followed  by 
Murillos,  flowed  to  the  New  World,  and  the  eccle- 
siastics soon  possessed  more  art  treasures  than  the 
Old  World  churches  owned.  Slowly  this  began  to 
influence  the  latent  talents  of  the  Indian  mind,  and, 
about  a  hundred  years  after,  a  school  of  painters 
developed  in  Mexico  City. 

Jose  Ibarra,  Miguel  Cabrera,  Baltaras  de  Ochave, 
and  Arteaga,  all  were  noted  for  their  work, 
and  a  national  art,  distinctive  and  founded  upon 
European  influence,  became  established.  With 
the  revolutionary  period  the  art  collections  were 
scattered  or  destroyed,  sold  to  raise  funds  for 
powder,  or  hidden  and  lost.  Of  what  is  left 
little  but  ecclesiastical  subjects  survive,  but  scat- 
tered  about  Mexico  are  still  many  art  treasures 


104  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

whose  existence  is  unknown  to  European  connois- 
seurs. 

All  art  and  literature  in  Mexico's  early  days  fell 
under  the  ban  of  the  Church,  and,  with  the  Inqui- 
sition and  the  ecclesiastics  ruling  the  land,  most 
of  the  Indian  arts  fell  into  disuse.  One  notable 
cleric,  Bishop  Zumarraga,  collected  all  accessible 
native  codices  and  writings,  which  he  found  to  be 
deeply  tainted  with  the  ideas  of  the  devil— and  so 
burnt ! 

This  auto-da-fe  obliterated  Mexican  history  for 
good  and  all.  Beyond  religious  matter  little  was 
written  for  many  yea,rs  until  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century ;  political  agitation  began  to  stir 
Mexico,  and  Freemasonry  began  to  spread  the  cause 
of  liberty.  With  this  awakening  came  the  first 
crop  of  Mexican  writers ;  but  it  was  not  till  some 
thirty  years  ago  that  a  national  school  of  writers 
came  into  being. 

Most  Mexican  work  is  fervidly  patriotic,  and  they 
are  now  producing  excellent  poets  and  novelists, 
while  journalism  is  exceptionally  brilliant  and 
sincere. 

Among  the  Indians,  pottery  making  and  modelling 
is  still  a  predominant  art,  although  here,  as  usual, 
the  baneful  effect  of  clerical  taste  and  bigotry  has 
destroyed  many  old-time  secrets  of  craftsmanship. 
Early  Mexican  art  was  wonderful,  and  the  exquisite 


ART  AND  THE  NATIVES  105 

design  and  workmanship  of  some  of  the  idols,  vases, 
toys,  and  "  caretas  "  dug  up  during  excavations  says 
much  for  their  civilization.  At  Puebla,  Mexican 
majolica  ware  is  still  turned  out,  but  it  is  cruder 
and  more  vivid  than  the  work  of  a  century  ago, 
when  the  factories  were  emulating  the  imported 
Spanish  majolica.  Puebla  is  still  celebrated  for 
tiles,  and  the  newly-built  British  Legation,  the  work 
of  the  well-known  Anglo-Mexican  architect,  Don 
Carlos  Grove-Johnson,  F.R.I.B.A.,  has  a  most  won- 
derful hall  and  staircase  decorated  by  designs  in 
Puebla  tiles. 

These  tiles  have  a  softness  of  colouring  and  an 
iridescent  sheen  under  the  glaze  that  make  them 
of  great  value  in  a  decorative  scheme.  The  effect 
of  the  firing  and  the  irregularities  of  their  surface — 
for  they  are  hand-made — giving  them  a  depth  and 
richness  that  is  absolutely  missing  in  the  regularity 
and  flatness  of  machine-made  tiles. 

All  the  big  towns  of  the  Republic  have  their  own 
speciality  in  pottery,  and  it  is  well  worth  while 
collecting  specimens  of  the  ware  ;  but  it  is  unwise  to 
use  it,  as  the  lead  glaze  which  is  in  universal  use 
has  undoubtedly  poisonous  effects. 

Of  woven  fabrics,  the  only  worthy  of  notice  are 
the  scrapes  or  blanket  cloaks  made  all  over  the 
Republic.  These  maintain  the  traditional  Indian 
designs  and  are  dyed  with  vegetable  dyes.     Unfor- 


io6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

tunately,  the  ubiquitous  German  aniline  dyes  have 
penetrated  to  the  mountains,  and  the  manufacture 
of  good  serapes  is  fast  becoming  an  obsolete  art. 
For  tourists  ready-made,  machine-woven,  aniline- 
dyed,  imitation  serapes  are  imported  from  Ger- 
many. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OUTFIT— TRAVEL 

Anyone  who  purposes  to  travel  is  always  full  of 
questions  and  doubts  concerning  outfit,  and  is  more 
than  anxious  to  know  what  to  take,  and,  what  is 
more  important,  what  it  is  better  to  buy  out  there, 
and  not  have  to  pay  duty  upon. 

To  the  person  who  has  not  been  there  Mexico 
always  means  Central  America,  and  is  vaguely 
regarded  as  being  a  neighbour  of  Chili  and  Colombia. 
Actually  it  is  the  tail  end  of  North  America,  and 
accessible,  either  direct  from  England,  or  from  New 
York,  by  rail  or  sea.  This  results  in  one  being  able 
to  get  mostly  anything  in  Mexico  City  that  one 
can  get  in  any  American  or  European  capital. 

Clothes  depend  upon  where,  in  the  Republic, 
you  are  going,  as  it  is  all  different  altitudes — from 
perpetual  snow  to  tropic  jungle.  If  you  propose  to 
tour  about  you  will  need  a  fairly  comprehensive 
outfit.  For  Mexico  City  light  summer  clothes  are 
the  best,  medium  weight  underwear,  and  shirts 
which  can  be  worn  with  belt  or  cummerbund,  and 
no  waistcoat,  after  the  American  fashion.    An  over- 

I07 


io8  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

coat  is  necessary  in  the  evenings,  and  solar  topees 
are  not  needed — an  ordinary  straw  hat  or  panama 
being  ample  protection  against  the  sun.  Most 
important  of  all  is  a  cholera  belt — about  six  feet  of 
red  flannel  strip,  six  inches  wide,  wound  round  the 
abdomen.  Red  flannel  is  undoubtedly  the  best — why 
1  do  not  know,  but  there  is  some  mystic  value  in 
the  colour  that  beats  all  other  devices  hollow ;  true, 
the  colour  at  first  comes  out,  and  discolours  your 
vest,  but  for  all  that  I  personally  swear  by  red 
flannel,  and  refuse  all  others. 

The  cholera  belts  of  commerce  that  one  buys  in 
shops  are  useless,  as  they  are  not  thick  enough  to 
be  of  service,  and  expand  in  the  wash  till  they  fail  to 
retain  their  position  ;  also  they  are  expensive,  while 
my  cholera  belts  cost  about  ninepence  each,  can  be 
got  anywhere,  and  last  for  years. 

Riding-breeches  should  be  of  light  khaki  twill  or 
white  drill ;  the  latter  are  cooler,  but  need  washing 
after  one  day's  use,  as  saddle  soap  discolours  them. 
For  the  sea-coast  and  the  Tropics  white  drill  suits, 
and  lots  of  them,  are  the  only  cool  wear ;  for  out- 
door work  khaki  or  Burberry  shooting-kit  is  the 
best.  Personally  I  believe  in  the  cow-punchers'  and 
frontiersmen's  shirt  and  no  coat  for  outdoor  work ; 
as  for  headgear,  the  "  Stetson  "  is  the  one  and  only 
hat.  It  must  be  a  genuine  "  Stetson,"  and  although 
costing  about  twenty-five  shillings,  it  will  last  for 


OUTFIT— TRAVEL  109 

ever,  and  never  let  rain  come  through.  For  tropical 
rain  a  real  waterproof  is  essential — no  "  raincoat "  or 
fabric  will  withstand  the  downpour. 

A  cow-puncher's  oilskin  "  slicker  "  is  the  best  for 
riding  purposes,  as  it  is  built  to  cover  the  saddle  and 
keep  the  whole  of  the  wearer  and  his  outfit  dry ; 
but  it  is  unlovely  and  rather  heav}^,  and  cannot  be 
bought  in  England,  although  they  only  cost  about 
fifteen  shillings  in  the  States. 

The  boot  question  is  one  of  great  importance,  for 
the  Mexican  stirrup  will  not  admit  a  wide-soled  out- 
door English  boot.  It  is  better  to  wear  a  rather 
pointed  riding-boot  with  solid  leather  legs  than  the 
stouter  lace-up  pattern  "field-boot."  For  walking, 
any  light  English  or  American  boot  will  do.  Shoes 
are  to  be  avoided,  as  the  mosquito  steers  immediately 
for  the  exposed  ankles,  and  poisoned  sores  may  lay 
one  up  for  a  week  or  more. 

Apropos  of  mosquitoes,  never  travel  without  a 
"  pabellon,"  a  mosquito-net — not  the  type  sold  at 
outfitters'  and  really  looking  like  a  net,  but  an 
enormous  cone  of  cheese-cloth  with  no  apparent 
meshes.  Bought  nets  are  futile,  and  need  special 
jointed  rigging  ;  but  a  big  cone,  or  "  pabellon,"  can  be 
tied  up  to  a  nail  in  the  wall  or  ceiling,  and  then 
spread  entirely  over  the  bed  and  sleeper.  Lotions 
to  frighten  away  mosquitoes  are  of  little  use,  as  they 
evaporate  so  quickly ;  but  ladies  may  find  them  useful 


no  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

when  wearing  garments  so  thin  as  to  afford  no  pro- 
tection against  mosquitoes.  The  best  is  a  stuff 
called  "  Muscatol,"  which  has  a  pleasant  odour,  and 
can  be  bought  at  any  big  shop  in  London.  Keating's 
is  useful,  as  Mexican  trains  and  hotels  are  peculiarly 
verminous,  and  the  native  is  a  host  to  all  the  plagues 
of  Egypt.  In  spite  of  personal  cleanliness,  even 
the  best  people  may  pick  up  a  stray  insect  or  so  ; 
but  a  petrol  hairwash  will  clear  the  situation,  while 
calomel  ointment  will  rid  the  person  of  jungle  ticks 
and  other  pests,  and  it  is  as  well  to  know  these 
remedies. 

The  Mexican  washerwoman  is  a  beast,  and  the 
Chinese  lavador  a  good  second.  You  send  a  new 
shirt  to  the  wash,  and  it  comes  back  without 
buttons  and  torn  to  rags.  This  is  because  the 
wash-lady  takes  it  out  to  the  river,  or  more  likely  a 
dirty  pond,  and  hammers  it  between  two  stones,  till 
every  button  is  pulverized.  In  the  big  cities  there 
are  steam  laundries  ;  they  are  expensive,  but  worth 
patronizing,  as  the  boiling  sterilizes  one's  clothes, 
and  there  is  no  fear  of  the  infections  that  are  spread 
by  the  Chinese  and  native  methods  of  washing.  All 
white  drill  suits  should  have  detachable  buttons; 
these  should  be  detached  before  sending  to  the 
wash,  from  which  they  never  return. 

For  a  sportsman  a  twelve-bore  shot-gun  and  a 
rifle  are  ample  battery ;  but  the  rifle  should  not  be 


OUTFIT— TRAVEL  iii 

an  English  one,  as  no  cartridges  can  be  obtained  for 
it.  Any  American  weapon  will  do — Winchester, 
Marlin,  Remington,  or  Savage — but  it  should  be 
either  a  carbine  or  a  saddle-gun,  and  of  small  calibre 
and  high  velocity,  such  as  the  well-known  30-30  or 
•303  Savage  {not  the  English  army  cartridge,  but  a 
special  American  sporting  cartridge).  I  personally 
believe  in  the  '303  Savage  saddle-gun  as  the  best 
weapon  for  Latin-America  or  the  States.  Fitted  with 
ivory  sights  for  bad  lights,  which  change  to  globe  and 
orthoptic  for  long  ranges,  you  have  a  weapon  with  a 
very  low  trajectory,  very  high  velocity,  and  suitable 
for  any  range.  The  simplicity  of  the  mechanism  and 
the  revolving  box  magazine  and  under-lever  action 
make  it  a  quick,  reliable,  and  compact  weapon. 

Automatic  rifles  are  to  be  avoided,  and  the  auto- 
matic pistol,  unless  of  large  calibre,  is  not  over- 
reliable.  In  the  Tropics  explosives  deteriorate 
quickly,  and  a  miss-fire  or  a  jam  in  an  automatic 
may  cause  you  to  lose  valuable  time  at  a  moment 
when  you  need  your  pistol  exceedingly  badly.  In  a 
revolver  the  next  chamber  will  come  round  and  you 
do  not  lose  half  the  time  that  you  do  when  a  miss- 
fire  occurs  in  an  auto. 

The  big  pistol  is  the  best,  and  a  "45  or  -44-40 
Colt  can  be  depended  on,  but  for  the  occasional 
traveller  a  '38  hammerless  Smith  and  Wesson  or 
Colt    Positive  will   be  easier  to  carry  and  quite 


112  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

efficient ;  three  twenties  of  any  kind  are  too  small 
to  be  effective.  While  travelling  the  revolver  is 
carried  openly  in  a  belt  holster,  but  in  towns  it  must 
be  concealed ;  it  is  well  to  have  one  for  ostentation 
if  necessary  ;  but  if  a  man  is  shot,  leave  Mexico  at 
once,  and  write  to  someone  to  send  your  things  on 
afterwards.  This  is  not  because  homicide  is  dis- 
approved of,  but  because  the  white  man  has  little 
chance  in  a  Mexican  court,  and  will  be  bled  of 
all  his  money,  even  if  he  does  not  die  of  disease 
in  gaol  during  the  months  or  years  before  his 
'*  trial."  It  is  better  to  kill  than  to  wound  if  you  are 
forced  to  defend  yourself,  as  you  have  time  to  get 
away  before  the  laws  begin  to  operate.  The  penalty 
is  the  same  in  either  case. 

The  golden  rule  in  Mexico  is,  "  When  in  doubt  or 
trouble  try  a  bribe."  Five  dollars  to  a  policeman 
will  save  you  having  to  bribe  the  commissario  with 
fifty.  Using  one's  fists  is  also  a  serious  offence,  for 
if  you  draw  blood — from  nose  or  mouth — it  is  the 
same  as  if  you  had  stabbed  a  man.  The  native  is 
seldom- troublesome,  but  white  men  of  other  nation- 
alities are  sometimes  turbulent,  and  the  miner  down 
on  a.,bust,  or  the  rancher  in  his  cups,  can  start  trouble 
mighty  quick.  Never  butt  into  anybody's  trouble, 
or  it  becomes  your  own  property  at  once.  Never 
render  first  aid  or  interfere  with  a  corpse,  or  you 
become  a  witness,  and  may  be  detained  for  months. 


OUTFIT— TRAVEL  113 

A  good  medicine-case  is  a  sound  thing  to  carry. 
Calomel,  aspirin,  quinine  (5-grain  tabloids),  CoUis 
Browne's  chlorodyne,  boracic  acid,  and  liver  pills 
are  about  all  that  is  needed ;  but  as  native  food  often 
disorganizes  the  digestion,  salol  and  soda  mint  are 
good  to  carry  as  well.  For  poisoned  bites  hot  bread 
poultices  are  the  only  thing  that  works,  and  a  snake- 
bite pencil — lancet  one  end,  permanganate  the  other 
— may  come  in  useful  for  scorpion  or  snake  bites. 
A  good  antiseptic  should  be  carried  :  "  chinosol "  is 
sound  and  easy  to  handle,  as  it  is  non-poisonous 
and  non-corrosive.  Ointments  are  to  be  avoided, 
as  they  melt  in  the  heat  and  leak  out,  messing  up 
everything  in  the  case.  Compressed  bandages  and 
cyanide  gauze  and  hnt  are  sound,  also  an  eye-bath 
for  inflamed  eyes. 

Opium  pills  of  i  grain  are  good  if  you  are  far 
away  from  aid  and  anaesthetics.  All  the  above, 
except  chlorodyne  and  chinosol,  can  be  got  of 
Burroughs  and  Wellcome,  whose  tabloids  can 
always  be  relied  on.  The  chlorodyne  must  be  Collis 
Browne's;  the  others  do  not  work,  although  the 
people  who  have  never  had  to  use  them  swear  that 
they  are  better.  Ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred 
travellers  will  swear  by  Collis  Browne,  and,  after  all, 
they  probably  know  what  they  are  talking  about. 
Calomel  and  chlorodyne  taken  early  prevent  tropical 
colic,    and  diarrhoea  from  turning  into  dysentery. 

8 


114  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

Never  neglect  the  slightest  trouble  in  the  Tropics, 
or  it  is  sure  to  get  worse ;  indigestion  changes  to 
gastric  ulcer,  and  scratches  refuse  to  heal. 

Camp  outfit  can  be  bought  as  cheaply  in  Mexico 
City  as  in  London,  and  you  save  freight.  The 
Customs  are  not  obnoxious,  and  a  "  peso  "  to  the 
inspector  will  probably  see  you  through  without 
hindrance.  To  get  to  Mexico  you  have  the  choice 
of  the  Royal  Mail  or  a  German  line  ;  if  possible  take 
the  former,  but  on  no  account  go  by  any  of  the  other 
English  lines,  whose  boats  are  cargo  tramps  with 
room  for  about  twenty  passengers.  On  these  boats 
the  food  is  vile  and  the  accommodation  abominable. 
They  charge  first-class  fares  for  steerage  comfort, 
and  should  be  avoided  at  all  costs. 

The  Ward  line  from  New  York  can  be  well 
recommended,  and  the  trip  via  Havana  is  well  worth 
while.  The  boats  are  cool  and  comfortable,  and  the 
food  and  service  good  and  not  at  all  expensive. 
Railroad  through  from  New  York  to  Mexico  City 
is  a  hot  and  trying  journey,  although  much  quicker 
than  the  sea  voyage.  Travelling  expenses  are 
about  a  pound  per  day,  but  it  can  be  done  much 
cheaper  if  you  speak  Spanish,  and  are  not  particular 
as  to  first-class  accommodation. 

A  slight  knowledge  of  Spanish  is  essential  if 
you  are  to  travel  in  the  interior.  The  best  way 
is  to  learn  as  many  necessary  words  and  phrases 


OUTFIT— TRAVEL  115 

as  possible.  Don't  attempt  grammar,  but  stick 
solidly  to  phrases  and  nouns.  It  does  not  matter 
how  incorrectly  you  speak,  as  the  natives  are  quick- 
witted and  usually  grasp  your  meaning;  they  are 
also  polite  and  do  not  laugh  at  your  errors. 

The  rainy  season  (June  to  September)  is  the  best 
time  for  Mexico  City,  but  just  after  the  rains  is  best 
for  the  Tropics.  Up  to  3,000  feet  the  country  is 
"  tierra  caliente  " — tropical ;  then  comes  the  **  tierra 
templada,"  or  temperate  zone,  which  is  the  best  all- 
round  climate ;  then  the  "  tierra  fria,"  at  about  6,000. 
In  the  "  tierra  fria  "  everything  is  rather  upset — hot 
days  and  frosty  nights,  northers  with  snow,  or 
blazing  hot  dust-storms.  Food  requires  special 
cooking,  and  health  is  doubtful.  At  that  altitude 
the  strain  on  the  heart  is  heavy,  and  colds  change  to 
pneumonia,  which  is  usually  fatal.  Another  pecu- 
liarity is  nerve  trouble  due  to  the  altitude  and 
intense  sun.  A  change  to  a  lower  level  for  a  rest 
every  six  months  is  a  necessity  if  you  wish  to  keep 
well. 

Game  in  Mexico  is  plentiful,  but  not  always  easy 
to  reach.  Everybody  will  assure  you  that  there  is 
**  mucho  venado,"  but  this  does  not  imply  any  real 
truth  in  the  statement ;  it  is  merely  due  to  a 
sporting  desire  to  please.  "  Tigre,"  or  jaguar,  is  the 
biggest  prize,  though  bears  are  found  in  the  north. 
All  jaguars  and   tiger-cats  are  called   "  tigre "  or 


ii6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

"tigrito,"  irrespective  of  whether  they  are  really 
"  gatos  de  montes  "  or  bona  fide  '*  tigres."  Actually 
there  are  jaguars,  ocelots,  and  many  different  kinds 
of  tiger-cats.  Pumas  are  called  "  pumas  "  or  '*  leon- 
cillo,"  and  in  the  Sierras  of  Chiapas  the  rare  "  felis 
yaguarondi "  is  to  be  found. 

The  ordinary  Mexican  deer  and  whitetails  are 
common,  and  in  the  north  the  blacktail  is  met  with. 
Wild  pig  ("  jabali "),  peccary,  coyotes,  wolves, 
racoons,  armadillos,  sloths,  tapir  (**  anteborussa  "), 
ant-eaters  ('' formigueros "),  alligators,  and  snakes 
of  all  kinds,  including  the  dreaded  water-boa,  or 
"camouti,"  are  to  be  found.  As  for  birds,  prac- 
tically all  kinds  of  water-fowl,  quail,  partridge, 
pheasants,  and  wild  turkeys  are  to  be  found.  On 
the  Guatemalan  frontier  the  quetzal,  the  royal  bird 
of  the  Aztecs,  can  be  found :  it  has  a  vivid  metallic 
green  plumage,  and  is  of  a  very  retiring  nature, 
living  for  the  most  part  in  deep  jungle,  and  very 
rarely  shot. 

Skins  can  be  tanned  very  well  and  cheaply  in 
Mexico  City,  but  the  natives  spoil  heads  and  skins 
if  not  carefully  watched  while  skinning.  It  is  best 
to  dress  and  dry  the  skins  with  alum  and  arsenic, 
and  when  dry  dip  in  paraffin  oil  to  keep  out  insects. 

Tarpon-fishing  at  Tampico  begins  in  December 
and  runs  till  May ;  the  cost  of  fishing,  hire  of  boat, 
etc.,  is  about  a  pound  a  day,  but  the  hotels  cater 


OUTFIT— TRAVEL  117 

specially  for  fishermen  during  the  season,  and 
inclusive  terms  can  be  got,  though  arrangements 
should  be  made  well  in  advance. 

Films  and  all  photographic  necessaries  can  be 
got  in  Mexico  City,  and  it  is  better  to  buy  them 
fresh  than  to  bring  them  over.  The  light  is  good, 
but  exceedingly  tricky,  often  seeming  much  stronger 
than  it  really  is.  Good  average  vi^ork  can  be  done 
with  one-twenty-fifth  exposure  and  a  No.  8  dia- 
phragm, and  the  vivid  contrast  of  high  lights  and 
subject  can  be  overcome  by  photographing  against 
the  light.  For  views  it  is  necessary  to  stop  down 
well,  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  the  Tropics 
a  long  exposure  is  often  necessary. 

Films  should  be  kept  in  sealed  tin  canisters,  and 
plates  and  film-packs  avoided,  as  the  damp  heat 
deforms  the  emulsion  on  plates  and  makes  film- 
packs  sticky.  Developing  in  the  hot  country  is 
almost  impossible,  and  films  should  be  sent  to 
Mexico  City  at  once;  if  you  wait  to  do  them  on 
your  return  they  are  usually  spoilt  with  the  damp. 

For  the  traveller  Mexico  is  a  charming  country, 
and  offers  boundless  possibilities  to  the  artist  and 
pleasure-seeker,  archaeologist,  or  tourist,  and  to 
people  in  search  of  something  entirely  different  to 
everywhere  else ;  it  is  one  of  the  most  charming  of 
countries,  and,  although  one  of  the  oldest  civilized 
countries  in  the  world,  it  is  still  one  of  the  least 


ii8  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

known,  and  even  in  parts  still  unexplored.  Ad- 
venture and  romance  are  still  to  be  found,  and  the 
primitive  is  within  a  day's  journey  of  the  railroad. 
In  Mexico  there  is  still  the  spirit  of  the  early  days 
of  the  West  and  places  little  changed  since  the 
advent  of  Cortez.  The  country  exerts  a  spell  over 
all  those  who  have  ever  visited  it,  and  yet  on  every 
hand  civilization  of  the  modern  kind  is  making  vast 
strides  of  progress.  It  would  be  well  to  visit 
Mexico  before  it  is  too  late. 


CHAPTER  XV 

"EL  FOXCHASE" 

I  HAD  not  been  long  in  Mexico  City  before  I  met  an 
enthusiastic  horseman.  He  strolled  in  my  rooms 
to  borrow  something,  saw  a  pair  of  riding-boots, 
and  stayed  to  talk  horse.  The  upshot  of  it  was  that 
I  was  invited  to  join  the  Cosmopolitan  Riding  Club 
and  attend  a  **  foxchase." 

My  friend  explained  the  rules  of  "  El  Foxchase  " 
as  practised  in  Mexico  City.  There  were  no  foxes 
and  no  hounds;  a  drag  had  been  tried,  but  the 
altitude  with  its  sharp  night  frosts  and  morning 
sun  was  fatal  to  the  scent.  The  idea  of  a  gallop 
still  remained,  and  the  "sport"  was  obtained  by 
fastening  a  silver-mounted  fox  brush  on  to  the  left 
arm  of  an  ambitious  horseman,  who  was  chased  by 
the  remainder  of  the  club. 

The  course  was  carefully  laid  out,  and  jumps 
arranged  at  intervals  of  a  few  hundred  yards,  while 
the  natural  river-beds  of  the  country  formed  a  series 
of  formidable  obstacles. 

The  meet  took  place  in  the  Chapultepec  Park  at 
eight  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning,  and  the   field 

119 


120  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

began  to  turn  up.  To  English  eyes  the  whole 
proceeding  was  a  brilliant  burlesque.  The  weird 
horses  and  the  still  weirder  costumes  of  the  riders 
belonged  to  either  the  circus  or  Margate  sands — no 
hunt  on  earth  had  ever  been  so  brilliant  in  costume. 

The  members  of  the  hunt  rode  in  the  regulation 
"  pink  " — a  pink  of  a  hue  never  seen  in  England — 
actually  a  dull  claret  colour.  Here  and  there  a  man 
was  dressed  in  sky-blue  or  green — a  visitor  from 
some  other  club  whose  hunting  colours  were  dif- 
ferent. The  majority  wore  little  black  velvet  hunt- 
ing-caps or  white  sun-helmets,  but  the  actual  crux 
came  over  the  question  of  riding-breeches  and  boots. 

Some  wore  ready-made  German  riding-breeches 
"  cut  on  English  model " — remarkable  garments  re- 
sembling balloons.  Others  wore  ordinary  trousers, 
brown  gaiters,  and  black  boots.  Here  and  there 
was  someone  disguised  as  a  stage  explorer  in  tight- 
fitting  khaki  drill  and  manifold  belts  and  pockets. 
A  little  group  of  Mexican  officers  and  cadets  in  full 
uniform,  members  of  the  Military  Riding  Club, 
completed  the  picture. 

The  horses  chafed  and  snorted  while  much 
tightening  of  girths  and  shortening  of  stirrups  went 
on  among  the  nervous  riders.  We  were  waiting 
for  the  arrival  of  the  master.  The  master  is  newly 
elected  for  each  meet,  and  his  duties  are  to  keep 
back  the  field  and  see  that  no  one  breaks  the  rules. 


■Mi^ni 


"EL  FOXCHASE"  121 

Anyone  passing  the  master  is  fined  five  dollars, 
and  as  many  of  the  members  cannot  hold  their 
horses  (often  ex-steeplechasers)  this  rule  consider- 
ably augments  the  revenue  of  the  club.  The  "  fox  "  is 
not  allowed  to  be  caught  till  the  end  of  the  run, 
when  everybody  who  has  jumped  all  the  obstacles 
is  eligible  to  compete  as  a  "  hound,"  and  attempt  to 
tear  the  brush  from  the  "  fox's  "  arm. 

Finally,  the  master  arrived.  He  was  an  elderly 
Mexican  of  aldermanic  proportions.  Flushed  with 
pride  in  his  raiment,  but  insecure  in  his  English 
saddle,  he  saluted  the  assembled  company.  Behind 
him  rode  a  gentleman  wearing  a  French  horn, 
bandolier  fashion,  across  his  shoulder. 

We  all  formed  up  to  be  photographed,  and  with 
much  shuffling  got  into  line.  Enterprising  reporters 
sped  up  and  down,  taking  our  names  for  the  Press 
notice.    At  last  we  moved  off. 

Through  the  slums  of  Mexico  City  to  the  open 
country  beyond  our  procession  took  its  way. 
Wondering  peons  gazed  amazed  at  the  weird  caval- 
cade, a  solemn  Englishman  in  full  and  correct 
hunting  kit  attracting  much  attention.  Eventually 
the  starting-place  was  reached. 

The  "fox"  led  off,  with  three  brilliant  refusals, 
his  mount  objecting  to  leaving  the  party.  Finally 
he  got  away.  Midst  clouds  of  dust  the  field — about 
fifty   strong — charged    the    carefully  built    hurdle 


122  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

jumps  that  would  accommodate,  possibly,  four 
horses  abreast.  Under  the  onslaught  the  fences 
were  pounded  flat,  and  the  mob  surged  on.  I  was 
in  the  first  flight,  and  rode  for  my  life.  Behind  me 
the  field  behaved  like  a  circus.  Men  on  horses  they 
could  not  hold  swung  round  in  wide  circles  to  avoid 
passing  the  master  and  incurring  a  five-dollar  fine. 

Soon  we  had  half  a  dozen  empty  saddles,  the 
riderless  horses  careering  ahead.  The  field  tailed 
out,  and  it  was  possible  to  ride  without  being  ridden 
over.  The  sun  was  fierce,  and  the  whole  hunt  grey 
with  powdery  dust.  Down  their  faces  the  sweat 
had  trickled,  making  little  runlets  through  the 
coating  of  dust. 

An  accident  happened  about  half-way  through  the 
run.  A  young  German  was  thrown  and  dragged. 
Half  the  field  stopped  to  watch  and  give  assistance, 
the  other  half  swept  on.  Eventually  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  white  tents  erected  for  the  hunt  break- 
fast, and  in  a  wide  meadow  we  pulled  up  on  the 
heels  of  the  panting  "  fox." 

After  a  wait  to  allow  the  remainder  of  the  field  to 
come  up,  all  those  who  had  successfully  taken  the 
jumps  ranged  in  a  line,  and  on  the  master  giving 
the  word,  raced  to  catch  the  "fox."  He  rode  in 
circles,  and  eventually  two  enthusiastic  "hounds" 
having  ridden  at  him  from  opposite  sides,  he  was 
hurled  out  of  his  saddle.     The  master  decided  that 


"EL  FOXCHASE"  123 

he  could  keep  the  brush,  having  successfully  "  gone 
to  earth." 

Breathless  and  dusty,  the  hunt  dismounted,  and 
throwing  their  reins  to  native  grooms,  entered  the 
tents.  Here  an  enormous  meal,  with  drink  of  every 
kind,  was  awaiting  us,  and  a  native  band  of  blind 
musicians  played  excruciating  music. 

The  hunt  breakfast  was  a  real  **  quarry,"  and  the 
company  fell  to  with  a  will,  consuming  enormous 
quantities  of  beer  and  light  German  wines.  Soon 
the  breakfast  was  demolished,  and  cigars  and  cigar- 
ettes were  handed  round.  It  was  proclaimed  by 
the  master  that  all  "  hounds "  who  felt  equal  to  it 
might  compete  in  a  jumping  competition  for  prizes 
provided  out  of  the  club  funds. 

As  the  horses  had  now  recovered  their  wind,  the 
leading  heroes  of  the  club  regretfully  put  down  their 
drinks  and  got  ready  to  compete.  The  peons  hastily 
arranged  a  few  jumps  and  retired  to  consume  the 
remains  of  the  hunt  breakfast. 

The  jumps  were  none  of  them  more  than  a  metre 
high,  but  still  they  caused  several  casualties,  as  the 
riding  was  deplorable.  At  last  a  man,  riding  a  horse 
with  a  cast-steel  mouth,  to  which  he  clung  with  the 
fear  of  despair,  managed  to  clear  all  the  jumps  and 
was  awarded  first  prize.  The  second  and  third 
prizes  were  given  on  points,  and  as  the  judges  kept 
no  lists,  the  two  other  competitors  were  awarded 


124  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

prizes.  They  were  genuine  supporters  of  the  Hunt 
Club,  and  one  of  them  owned  his  horse.  Such 
a  distinguished  person  must  receive  a  prize !  Abcmt 
eleven  o'clock  the  party  broke  up,  and  rode  back  to 
the  city  in  time  to  wash  and  change.  The  bull-fight 
or  the  races  claimed  us  all,  for  in  Mexico  these  are 
Sunday  amusements. 

Mexico  has  the  largest  bull-ring  in  the  world,  and 
the  ambition  of  every  small  boy  of  the  lower  classes, 
and  of  some  degenerates  among  the  upper,  is  to  be 
a  bull-fighter.  "  Toreros  "  (bull-fighters)  are  very 
popular  indeed ;  they  are  looked  upon  as  supermen 
by  the  votaries  of  the  bull-ring,  but  by  ordinary 
common-sense  folk  are  regarded  as  unspeakably 
nasty.     Luckily  they  seldom  live  long. 

The  torero  is  undeniably  brave  when  he  faces  a 
bull,  but  this  is  about  the  only  good  point  he  has. 
He  is  immoral  to  a  degree  unbelievable  to  those 
who  have  not  examined  police  records,  and  usually 
an  uneducated  man  from  the  lowest  possible  class. 
Between  the  average  torero  and  a  Parisian  Apache 
there  is  no  gap. 

Bull-fights  are  disappointing  when  regarded  as  a 
spectacle.  A  lot  of  drivel  has  been  written  about 
the  pageantry  of  the  bull-ring  and  the  wonderful 
dignity  of  its  barbarism. 

It  is  fascinating,  of  course ;  but  you  do  not  grudge 
the  successful  matador  the  applause  that  greets  a 


"EL  FOXCHASE"  125 

clean  kill  or  a  daring  feat,  but  for  anyone  to  be 
impressed  by  the  dirty  howling  mob,  redolent  of 
garlic,  oranges,  and  cheap  cigarettes,  is  inconceivable. 

The  exasperated  little  black  bulls  come  tearing  in 
to  be  killed,  and  the  poor  old  blinded  horses  are 
forced  up  to  them  to  be  slaughtered,  for  a  bull  is 
not  excited  enough  till  he  has  blood  on  his  horns. 
The  scent  of  blood  fills  the  hot  amphitheatre;  six 
bulls  are  slaughtered  and  a  dozen  horses  or  so. 
The  corpses  lie  about  in  the  arena  till  dragged 
away  by  mules.  Sometimes  a  torero  gets  wounded, 
and  by  a  special  providence  a  wound  from  a  bull's 
horn  is  usually  so  septic  as  to  prove  fatal. 

The  native  Mexicans  are  so  addicted  to  "Los 
Toros"  that  the  bull  feast  is  regarded  by  the 
Government  as  a  dangerous  gathering,  for,  inflamed 
by  the  copious  slaughter,  the  audience  frequently 
riots,  so  every  "  corrida  "  has  a  regiment  of  soldiers 
on  duty:  you  see  them  all  over  the  amphitheatre, 
and  the  sunlight  glints  on  their  loaded  rifles.  It  is 
not  so  many  years  back  to  the  public  auto-da-fe  of 
the  Holy  Office,  and  to  the  human  sacrifices  of  these 
Aztecs.  Indian  nature  is  slow  to  change,  but  the 
public  are  educated  enough  to  regard  the  bull-ring 
as  a  modern  substitute  for  the  reeking  sacrifice  on 
the  Teocalli. 

Racing  in  Mexico  is  on  a  very  sound  basis,  the 
control  being  vested  in  the  Jocky  Club  de  Mexico, 


126  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

an  institution  founded  on  the  same  lines  as  the 
British,  and  exercising  the  same  functions  with 
regard  to  racing. 

Unfortunately  the  lower-class  Mexican  is  not  so 
interested  in  racing  as  he  is  in  bull-fighting,  but 
it  must  be  admitted  that  horses  come  next  in 
favour. 

The  Jockey  Club  has  a  splendid  race  track — La 
Condesa — situated  in  the  best  quarter  of  the  city ; 
and  race  meetings  are  held  every  Sunday  during 
the  season.  These  gatherings  are  always  brilliant, 
and  represent  the  best  element  in  Mexico. 

At  the  Mexican  Derby  the  President  attended  the 
racecourse  in  state,  and  everybody  of  importance 
in  the  social  and  official  world  could  be  found  in 
the  grand  stand.  Mexican  ladies  wearing  Parisian 
clothes  and  marvellous  jewellery.  Mexican  men  in 
their  best,  honouring  the  occasion  with  top  hats. 
There  was  every  variety  present :  veterans  from  the 
period  of  i860,  others  the  latest  thing  from  London 
or  Paris.  It  was  a  marvellous  education  in  the  way 
of  hats.  In  Mexico  a  topper  lasts  for  ever,  as  it  is 
only  used  on  great  occasions ;  so  its  presence  at  the 
racecourse  showed  that  racing  was  regarded  as  a 
function  of  the  same  importance  as  a  marriage  or  a 
funeral.  The  horses  are  not  at  all  bad — most  of 
them  import  Kentucky  stock ;  the  Derby  candidates, 
of  course,  are  bred  in  the  country.     Mexicans  are  a 


**EL  FOXCHASE"  127 

little  bit  uncertain  about  the  rules  governing  blood- 
stock, and  one  wealthy  Mexican,  when  in  the  States, 
bought  a  thorough-bred  colt  by  the  well-known  sire 
"  Yankee."  He  was  bitterly  disappointed  when  he 
found  that  he  could  not  enter  a  gelding  for  the 
Derby. 

There  are  many  good  steeplechases  open  to 
gentlemen  riders,  and  the  weights  are  by  no  means 
low.  When  one  considers  the  fact  that  Mexico 
City  is  some  8,000  feet  above  the  sea-level,  and  that 
the  air  at  this  altitude  is  very  rarefied,  the  horses 
make  pretty  fair  time.  It  is  also  hard  work  for  the 
jockeys. 

Book-makers  are  not  allowed,  but  the  Jockey  Club 
has  established  pari  mutuels.  These  do  a  thriving 
business,  and  heavy  betting  is  the  rule  rather  than 
the  exception.  Much  has  been  urged  against  horse- 
racing,  but  it  is  by  no  means  a  bad  thing  for  a 
young  man  in  the  Tropics,  where  other  active 
pursuits  are  out  of  the  question.  Your  rider  must 
keep  fit  and  in  training,  and  this  is  more  likely  to 
keep  him  in  good  health  than  a  complete  case  ot 
mixed  medicines.  The  regular  morning  gallop  and 
the  atmosphere  of  the  stable  is  not  half  as  bad  as 
many  other  relaxations  that  are  attractive  to  youth. 
As  for  the  betting,  it  is  perfectly  certain  that  the 
riding  man  is  usually  the  one  who  bets  least.  He 
knows  more  of  the  game. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  MAN  WHO  DISLIKED  BULL-FIGHTERS 

The  European  Colony  in  Mexico  City  was  inflamed 
against  the  bull-fighting  element.  There  is  no  need 
to  go  into  details,  but  an  episode  concerning  a  white 
girl  had  taken  place — the  punishment  for  which  in 
Mexico  was  a  fortnight's  imprisonment,  and  which 
would  have  incurred  a  sentence  of  penal  servitude 
for  life  in  England,  or  a  speedy  lynching  in  the 
States.  It  was  then  that  I  received  a  visit  from 
Pulteney. 

My  acquaintance  with  him  was  of  the  slightest. 
We  had  once  travelled  up  from  Vera  Cruz  together, 
and  had  met  possibly  twice  since. 

I  was  reading  in  my  rooms  when  he  came  in, 
bringing  with  him  a  friend.  The  friend  he  intro- 
duced with  a  wave  of  the  hand  as  "  This  is  Johnny 
Trott,  our  smelter  foreman,"  and  Pulteney  rushed 
headlong  into  an  explanation  of  the  object  of  his 
visit  to  Mexico  City.  It  appeared  that  he  and  his 
friend  had  a  hobby  that  was  unusual,  and  that  I 
was  invited  to  join  in  the  game.  j 

The    object   of  the    night   centred   round    bull- 

128 


BULL-FIGHTERS  DISLIKED  129 

fighters.  Bull-fighting  is  the  most  popular  sport 
in  Mexico,  and  leading  toreros  are  regarded  as 
demi-gods.  They  are  usually  in  hard  training  and 
have  the  reputation  of  being  bravoes  of  the  worst 
type,  frequently  forcing  quarrels  on  strangers  and 
carrying  weapons  that  ensure  a  speedy  ending. 
Altogether  in  an  Englishman's  eyes  they  are  about 
as  undesirable  a  set  of  blackguards  as  can  be 
imagined.  The  lower-class  Mexicans  regard  them 
as  heroes,  just  as  an  English  newsboy  looks  up  to 
a  professional  footballer. 

The  bull-fighter  dresses  in  a  distinctive  manner, 
and  wears  a  hat  which  resembles  an  English  straw 
hat  in  shape,  but  is  made  of  felt.  This  is  pushed 
down  over  his  brows  in  order  to  show  the  pigtail  on 
the  back  of  his  head.-  This  is  the  distinctive  badge 
of  the  professional  bull-fighter.  It  was  these  little 
pigtails  that  Johnny  Trott  collected. 

It  seemed  evident  that  Pulteney  and  Trott  had  no 
idea  of  the  danger  of  their  scheme,  so  I  expatiated 
on  the  reputations  of  the  toreros  and  their  ability 
with  the  knife.  With  a  pained  expression  Pulteney 
informed  me  that  this  was  no  frivolous  whim,  but  a 
serious  enterprise  which  they  had  tried  before. 
They  had  already  secured  three  of  the  coveted 
trophies.  He  was  not  a  subscribing  member  of  the 
S.P.C.A.,  but  merely  a  crusader. 

I  flatly  refused  to  join  in  any  such  foolhardiness  : 

9 


I30  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

but  when  I  was  presented  with  a  beautiful  black 
cloak  and  found  that  even  if  I  did  not  join  them  I 
could  not  dissuade  them,  I  gave  way  gracefully  and 
promised  to  adopt  the  role  of  spectator. 

We  were  all  wearing  the  garb  of  adventure — the 
Spanish  capote.  It  has  the  advantage  of  leaving 
your  arms  free,  and  wrapped  around  the  left  is  a 
shield  useful  to  guard  knives.  A  lovely  disguise, 
too,  as  with  hat  pulled  well  down  and  cloak  muffled 
up,  little  can  be  seen  of  the  wearer. 

Attired  as  three  comic-opera  conspirators  we  set 
out,  first  arranging  a  rendezvous  at  the  Miners' 
Club,  in  case  we  had  to  separate.  Johnny  Trott 
carried  not  a  delicate  pair  of  barber's  scissors,  but  an 
eight-inch  knife.  He  said  that  he  preferred  it  for 
hair-cutting;  as,  if  a  bull-fighter  turned  nasty,  it  gave 
him  a  more  pleasing  sense  of  security.  I  carried  a 
serviceable  revolver,  but  this  was  only  for  a  last 
resort. 

We  soon  reached  a  cafe  noted  for  its  bull-ring 
clientele.  It  was  seldom  entered  by  any  white 
people.  "Gringos,"  as  Europeans  are  called  in 
Mexico,  were  not  popular,  and  to  enter  that  caf6 
was  to  be  certain  of  being  insulted  openly  or 
even  attacked  by  some  of  the  customers. 

Pulteney  selected  a  table  not  too  far  from  the  door, 
and  we  ordered  coffee.  The  room  was  misty  with 
cigarette    smoke,   and    the   click   of   the   counters 


BULL-FIGHTERS  DISLIKED  131 

sounded  from  the  back  of  the  room.  Gambling  is 
forbidden  in  Mexico  City,  but  even  the  police  knew 
better  than  to  interfere  with  the  cafe  of  the  Three 
Cats. 

Our  entry  passed  unobserved  till  someone  noticed 
that  we  were  talking  in  English,  then  /things  began 
to  happen.  The  men  at  the  next  table  began  to  talk 
in  loud  tones  and  the  word  "Gringo"  could  be 
heard.  My  friend  took  no  notice.  Encouraged  by 
this  the  conversation  got  more  sultry.  Finally  a 
bull-fighter,  accompanied  by  two  satellites,  moved 
across  till  he  was  directly  opposite  our  table.  He 
leant  over  and  struck  a  match  on  the  marble  surface. 
Dead  silence  fell  in  the  cafe  as  everyone  waited  for 
the  coming  insult.  Trott's  face  wore  a  sweet  smile. 
Pulteney  looked  perfectly  unconscious.  I  felt  a 
tight  feeling  across  my  temples,  and  my  stomach 
seemed  to  shrink  up,  leaving  a  feeling  of  deadly 
emptiness. 

The  torero  lit  his  cigarette,  slowly  inhaled  a  puff 
of  smoke,  then  suddenly  blew  into  Trott's  face  and 
hissed  at  him  one  burning  Spanish  comment. 

Trott's  enormous  brown  paw  caught  the  torero 
round  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  before  he  could 
move,  his  legs  flew  under  him,  and  he  sprawled  face 
downwards  across  the  table.  With  the  crash  of  the 
falling  crockery  the  spell  of  silence  was  broken; 
everyone  jumped  up  and  a  general  melee  took  place. 


132  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

Pulteney  threw  one  of  the  torero's  satellites  against 
the  other,  and  I  was  busily  engaged  in  preventing 
interference  by  the  occupants  of  the  table  on  my 
right.  Trott  took  no  notice  of  the  surrounding 
skirmish,  but  proceeded  with  his  work  of  sawing 
off  the  pigtail  in  spite  of  his  victim's  wild  struggles 
to  be  set  free. 

The  fat  was  now  fairly  in  the  fire ;  there  were 
curses,  and  shouts  of  "  Muera  los  Gringos !"  Waiters 
flew  about,  and  men  left  their  tables,  crowding  to  the 
scene  of  the  row.  At  the  back  of  the  room  the  red 
flash  from  a  pistol  cut  across  the  smoke,  and  some 
plaster  fell  from  the  ceiling.  With  a  wild  rush  they 
panicked  to  the  door  and  jammed  —  a  struggling 
mass  in  the  entrance.  Someone  threw  a  heavy  por- 
celain match-stand,  which  missed  me  by  the  fraction 
of  an  inch,  and  smashed  one  of  the  big  mirrors. 

Trott  shouted  above  the  noise  of  fight,  "  Righto  I 
All  clear !"  and  picking  up  chairs,  we  piled  into  the 
crush  at  the  door.  Behind  us  the  mob  crashed  the 
tables  to  the  floor.  In  half  a  minute  we  were  out 
in  the  street  and  into  the  arms  of  a  crowd,  on  the 
skirts  of  which  appeared  the  uniform  caps  of  the 
police. 

We  stood  not  on  the  order  of  our  going — but  we 
went — separating  in  case  of  pursuit,  but  all  to  meet 
again  at  the  Miners'  Club.  My  last  view  of  the  caf(6 
of  the  Three  Cats  was  a  solid  phalanx  of  police  in 


BULL-FIGHTERS  DISLIKED  133 

the  doorway  using  their  clubs  on  the  frenzied  mob 
who  were  trying  to  break  out ! 

We  met  again  at  the  Miners'  Club,  and,  while  our 
thirst  was  slaked  in  the  smoke-room,  the  tale  was 
told  to  a  delighted  audience.  This  new  game  was 
distinctly  thirsty  work  for  the  Tropics.  We  got 
washed,  tidied  ourselves  up,  and  waited  for  the 
excitement  to  subside. 

Trott  being  pleased  with  himself  and  flushed  with 
success,  he  insisted  on  repeating  the  exploit,  this 
time  at  the  "  Casa  d'Or."  The  "  Golden  House  " 
was  a  lively  all-night  cafe  situated  in  one  of  the 
gayest  suburbs  of  the  city.  It  was  the  Latin- 
American  equivalent  of  a  celebrated  Montmartre 
restaurant. 

We  were  reinforced  by  two  men  from  the  club — 
Cartright  and  Marlake — and  packing  into  a  couple 
of  cabs,  drove  off  in  search  of  adventure. 

The  restaurant  was  a  typical  Mexican  house. 
Tables  were  set  in  an  open  courtyard,  or  patio,  and 
on  the  first  floor  was  a  wide  gallery,  where  small 
tables  were  set  for  foods  and  drinks.  The  iron 
raihngs  that  guarded  the  edge  of  this  balcony  were 
hung  with  flower-pots,  and  from  it  the  people  above 
could  look  down  upon  the  people  feeding  below. 

Everything  was  very  luxurious.  Cool  fountains 
played  into  marble  basins  full  of  water-lilies,  and 
the  strains  of  a  band  came  from  the  dancing-rooms 


v~ 


134  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

that  opened  off  the  gallery.  The  decorations  were 
exclusively  red  plush  and  gold. 

When  we  arrived  everything  was  in  full  swing. 
People  of  all  nationalities,  and  girls  of  every  shade 
of  colour,  from  a  Hayti  half-bred  to  a  blonde 
Flamande,  were  seated  in  the  gallery.  At  a  big 
table  in  the  patio  sat  two  toreros  and  their  jackals, 
with  several  ladies.  The  head  of  the  table  was 
taken  by  a  young  Mexican  connoisseur  of  bull- 
fighting, who  was  evidently  paying  for  the  feast. 
As  we  entered  the  dining-room  one  of  the  toreros 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  seizing  the  chair  of  the  girl 
next  to  him,  tipped  her  with  it  into  the  basin  in  the 
fountain.  His  companions  all  screamed  with  laughter 
,  "J*  at  the  sight  of  the  poor  bedraggled  creature.  All 
\*  was  gaiety  and  mirth. 

]t  Then  we  took  a  hand.     The    table   went  over 

^*\  bodily  as  Trott  and  Pulteney  tackled  a  bull-fighter 

apiece.  Marlake  and  Cartright  took  charge  of  the 
jackals,  and  as  I  was  merely  a  spectator,  the  gilded 
youth  fell  to  me.  The  waiters  and  chuckers-out 
fell  upon  us  in  a  body,  but  the  ladies  clung  to  them, 
and  swore  like  cats  in  blistering  Spanish.  My 
young  exquisite  tried  to  brain  me  with  an  empty 
champagne  bottle,  and  other  parties  began  to  cheer 
on  the  show,  and  pelt  raiders  and  raided  with  rolls 
and  fruit. 

The  noise  of  the  battle  rose,  and  Trott  had  sawn 


\ 


BULL-FIGHTERS  DISLIKED  135 

off  his  adversary's  pigtail,  and  was  going  to 
Pulteney's  assistance,  when  Marlake  received  a  knife 
stab  in  his  arm.  Up  till  now  the  game,  though 
rough,  had  not  been  serious ;  with  the  flash  of  the 
knife  the  whole  complexion  of  matters  changed. 

From  the  door  came  the  hoarse  challenge  of  the 
police,  and  the  sound  of  clubs  hammering  on  the 
big  doors.  It  was  time  to  move.  •  A  straight  blow 
or  two  cleaned  up  the  remainder,  and  we  went  in  a 
body  for  the  gallery  stairs.  At  the  foot  of  these  a 
diversion  took  place.    A   Mexican  who  had  been  \  , 

shouting  " Death  to  the  Gringos!"  and  dancing  on  ^^ 

a  chair,  attracted  the  notice  of  a  giant  German,  who  ^ 

threw  him  bodily  at  the  advancing  police,  and  joined  ^ 

a  group  with  a  yell. 

There  were  no  other  white  men  down  below,  and 
together  we  gained  the  gallery.  Here  a  panic  was  ^  ^ 
in  progress.  With  shouts  of  "  Police !"  and  screams 
from  the  girls,  everything  was  in  an  uproar,  and 
the  music  of  the  band  stopped  short.  From  the 
ballrooms  and  the  private  rooms  came  Americans 
and  Britishers,  Germans  and  Swedes,  all  ready  for 
a  scrap,  and  all  pleased  at  the  excitement. 

A  pistol  squibbed  off  down  below,  and  a  big 
lumberman  in  the  gallery  shot  twice  at  a  cluster  of 
electric  lamps ;  pieces  of  the  shades  fell  tinkling  on 
the  tiled  floor  of  the  patio. 

Below,  the  police  were  arresting  the  bull-fighters. 


^'  J^ 


136  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

and  a  group  of  police  officials  were  visible  in  the 
porch.  An  officer  called  on  us  to  surrender,  and 
led  his  squad  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  arrest  us ! 
Then  came  the  "  great  idea."  Someone  dropped  one 
of  the  decorative  pots  on  the  bunch.  We  used  the 
flov^er-pots  as  missiles,  and  v^ith  shouts  of  joy  the 
white  xQen  began  to  hurl  these  dov^n  on  to  the 
police  below.  Plants,  shards,  and  earth  fell  on  the 
enemy;  they  replied  with  a  shot  or  two,  which 
drew  from  us  a  return  fire.  A  policeman  yelped 
and  dropped  his  shattered  pistol-arm,  turned  and 
ran  for  the  door.  The  others  followed  him,  and  the 
restaurant  roof  rocked  to  our  laughter,  as  a  big 
electroplated  soup-tureen  chased  the  officer  down 
the  hall.  Subdued  by  our  mixed  fusillade,  the  police 
took  cover  in  the  porch. 

Matters  were  now  serious,  and  demanded  organ- 
ized work.  The  girls  were  shrieking  in  the  rooms, 
or  huddled  together  in  corners,  hiding  their  jewellery 
in  their  stockings.  Automatically  we  took  command, 
and  with  laughter  and  cheerful  cursing  set  to  work 
to  get  out  of  the  row  with  whole  skins.  The  enemy 
had  developed  a  policy  of  siege,  and  outside  the 
blowing  of  whistles  and  the  murmur  of  a  crowd  was 
audible.  Pulteney  and  I  went  to  a  window  over- 
looking the  entrance,  and  saw  the  street  lined  with 
police  and  a  semicircle  of  mounted  men  drawn  up 
round  the  door,  while  at  each  end  of  the  street  the 


BULL-FIGHTERS  DISLIKED  137 

lamps  shone  on  the  carbine  barrels  of  other  mounted 
pickets.  The  windows  were  all  clustered  with 
faces,  as  the  occupants  of  the  houses  looked  out  on 
the  fun.  A  bullet  smashed  a  pane  of  glass  in  the 
window,  and  passed  between  us,  and  a  yell  rose 
from  the  street.  We  retreated  hurriedly,  and  as  we 
did  so,  heard  the  clanging  of  a  fire-alarm  bell  in  the 
distance. 

All  Mexico  was  humming  like  a  hive  of  angry 
bees.  A  waiter  was  caught,  and  we  inquired 
for  a  side  door.  Yes,  there  was  one,  but  it  was 
next  to  the  front  door,  and  opened  into  the  street ; 
so  there  was  no  escape  that  way.  Led  by  Pulteney 
and  Trott,  a  party  made  a  quick  survey  of  the 
premises  and  found  that  we  were  caged.  Every 
window  was  barred  with  iron,  and  the  walls  were 
thick  ;  the  roof  higher  than  the  surrounding  houses 
and  leading  nowhere.  Startled  at  the  news,  we 
looked  at  each  other  with  serious  faces. 

At  this  juncture  a  little  Cuban  girl  stepped  forward 
and  said  that  if  the  seiiores  would  follow  her  she 
could  show  us  a  way.  As  for  those  dirty  pigs  of 
police,  etc.,  etc. 

She  led  us  to  a  small  barred  window  looking  out 
on  to  the  flat  roof  of  the  house  immediately  behind 
the  restaurant.  If  we  could  get  the  bars  out  we 
were  safe.  A  wrecking  party  set  to  with  a  will,  but 
the  stout  iron  bars  resisted  till  the  giant  German 


138  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

broke  the  top  off  a  marble  table,  and  used  the  iron 
pedestal  as  a  crowbar.  We  watched  the  bars  bend 
and  then  tear  loose  from  the  brickwork;  in  a  few 
minutes  the  way  was  clear,  and  a  party  led  by 
Pulteney  and  Cartright  set  out  to  find  the  way. 
Marlake,  with  his  arm  wrapped  in  a  napkin,  and  the 
little  Cuban  girl  clinging  to  him,  were  the  next  to 
go,  and  all  the  ladies  followed,  several  Mexicans 
having  to  be  taught  the  politeness  of  letting  ladies 
go  first. 

A  thunderous  summons  from  the  street  drove  some 
of  us  back  to  the  firing  line,  and  a  few  pistol- 
shots  kept  the  police  from  rushing  the  door.  An 
American  in  evening  dress  stood  by  the  main 
switchboard,  and  put  out  one  set  of  lights  after 
another,  while  silently  the  besieged  evaporated 
through  the  back  window.  Trott  and  I  and  the 
switchboard  man  came  last,  keeping  up  a  deafening 
racket  to  deceive  the  police,  till  we  reached  the 
escape  window.  Quickly  we  fled  over  the  roofs 
and  descended  through  the  house  of  a  respect- 
able Mexican,  who  with  his  family  was  gazing 
in  astonishment  at  the  mad  procession  filing 
down  his  stairs.  At  his  elbow  stood  Pulteney 
with  drawn  revolver  ensuring  silence  during  the 
flight. 

Bruised,  dusty,  and  happy  beyond  belief,  we 
tumbled  out  into  the  street,  and,  later,  woke  the 


BULL-FIGHTERS  DISLIKED  139 

sleepy  steward  of  the  Miners'   Club   to   hear  the 
story  of  the  man  who  disliked  bull-fighters. 

The  morning  train  bore  Pulteney  and  Trott  back 
to  their  mine,  and  one  leaving  half  an  hour  later 
carried  me  to  Cuernavaca.  I  found  the  air  of 
Mexico  City  a  good  deal  too  exhilarating — for  that 
week  at  least. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  LOWER  ORDERS 

The  back-wash  of  the  world  drifts  eventually 
down  to  Central  America.  There  you  can  find 
men  who  have  been  in  every  country  under  the 
sun,  just  natural  born  tramps  and  wanderers. 
The  line  of  the  railroad  is  their  highway,  and  as 
the  iron  roads  push  farther  down  towards  the 
Equator  they  are  followed  by  their  slaves.  The 
American  has  a  lovely  series  of  names  for  them : 
they  are  all  "bums" — that  is  to  say,  profitless 
accepters  of  charity — but  those  that  are  professional 
tramps  are  called  "  hoboes,"  and  the  criminal 
"hobo"  is  a  "yeg." 

Drink  is  cheap  in  Mexico :  for  ten  cents  a  man 
can  get  enough  cane  spirit,  or  "  tequila,"  to  be 
drunk  for  twenty-four  hours.  As  no  white  man  can 
refuse  charity  to  another  destitute  white  man  in  a 
coloured  country,  thirsty  tramps  thrive  in  Mexico 
and  Guatemala,  till  they  are  picked  up  dead  outside 
a  native  village. 

Like  birds,  they  are  migratory,  and  in  the  winter 
come    south  in   search    of   warmth,   travelling  on 

140 


THE  LOWER  ORDERS  141 

freight  trains  over  the  border,  or  landing  from 
cargo  steamers  at  Manzanillo  or  Salina  Cruz.  In 
the  United  States  and  Canada  there  is  little  charity, 
and  work-shy  men  who  fear  the  austerities  of  rail- 
road construction  or  lumbering,  drift  to  the  Tropics, 
where  for  a  white  there  is  no  manual  labour ;  they 
soon  discover  charity,  and  become  members  of  the 
"  hobo  "  fraternity. 

The  shameless  swell  usually  calls  upon  the 
Consul  (or  if  it  be  the  Capital,  the  Minister)  to  do 
something  for  him.  In  some  cases  he  arrives  first 
class,  puts  up  at  the  best  hotel,  carries  letters  of 
introduction  to  the  best  people,  and  has  only 
about  100  dollars  in  the  world.  This  money  is 
at  once  spent  on  unnecessary  extravagances ;  after 
that  he  tries  to  live  on  his  acquaintances. 

On  one  occasion  a  little  group  of  "  hoboes  "  were 
sitting  in  the  shade  of  a  water-tank  by  the  side 
of  a  railroad  track  in  Southern  Mexico,  and  an 
analysis  of  their  various  callings  revealed  the  fact 
that  one  was  an  ex-German  cavalry  officer,  one  an 
ex-English  Guardsman,  and  also,  of  all  things, 
claimed  to  be  an  aviator;  the  third  was  an  expert 
surveyor  and  a  hopeless  drunkard;  the  fourth 
claimed  a  medical  degree  and  was  called  "  Doc," 
but  apparently  never  got  beyond  his  student  years. 

They  were  playing  poker  with  a  pack  of  filthy  old 
cards,  and  were    using  pea-nut  shells   for  chips. 


142  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

None  of  them  had  any  money,  and  they  were 
waiting  for  a  freight  train  to  carry  them  down  to 
Guatemala.  I  offered  them  temporary  employment 
on  the  line,  but  the  offer  was  indignantly  rejected. 
Why  should  they  work  when  they  could  live 
without  it  ?    They  were  not  viciously  ambitious. 

More  than  one  tramp  has  explained  to  me  that 
he  is  not  a  "  hobo  "  by  force  of  circumstances,  but 
simply  from  an  artistic  love  of  vagabondage  as  a 
profession;  but  I  should  very  much  distrust  the 
average  **  bum's  "  capacity  for  holding  any  job,  how- 
ever trivial.  When  "  hoboes  "  are  around,  anything 
that  is  above  the  value  of  twopence  and  easier  to 
carry  than  a  locomotive  has  to  be  nailed  down.  As 
a  tribe  they  are  human  jackdaws. 

The  white  rancher,  or  ranch,  or  mine  employe,  is 
also  a  peculiar  product  of  the  country.  Such  exiles 
are  to  be  pitied  anywhere,  but  in  Mexico  something 
of  the  spirit  of  the  country,  the  atmosphere  of  the 
primeval  jungles,  or  the  hopelessness  of  the  Sierras, 
creeps  into  their  being  and  makes  their  life  seem 
sadder  than  that  of  the  colonial  or  settler  in  the 
temperate  zones. 

It  is  a  peculiar  attribute  of  the  British  that  they 
educate  their  sons  to  embrace  eagerly  the  idea  of  an 
overseas  career,  and  strenuously  avoid  teaching 
them  the  meaning  of  exile.  Parents  and  relatives 
who  probably  consider  that  they  are  sincerely  fond 


THE  LOWER  ORDERS  143 

of  their  sons  or  kinsmen  seem  to  be  able  to  send 
them  out  to  an  unbearable  and  hopeless  existence 
with  less  consideration  than  they  would  devote  to 
the  problem  of  their  appearing  suitably  clad  at  a 
garden-party.  The  truth  never  crosses  their  minds, 
or  even  if  it  does  they  dismiss  it  as  unthinkable,  and 
plunge  feverishly  into  a  dream  of  tropical  life, 
adventure,  and  careers  of  millionaires,  that  they  per- 
sist in  believing  to  be  the  "overseas  career." 

Some  types  of  Englishmen  can  stand  exile  and 
monotony,  but  these  types  are  usually  just  as  suc- 
cessfully plodding  and  unenterprising  at  home.  It 
is  not  these  who  as  a  rule  get  sent  out ;  instead,  we 
receive  the  boy  who  has  faults  or  failings,  weak 
spots,  or  periods  of  nervous  temperament  which  were 
perfectly  natural  and  probably  misunderstood.  The 
world  is  full  of  well-bred,  educated  Britishers,  who 
have  been  shot  out  to  a  strange  country  before  they 
had  ever  had  a  chance  to  decide  what  profession  in 
life  they  really  were  suited  for.  Flotsam  and  jetsam, 
they  wander  from  one  badly  paid  job  to  another, 
visiting  all  the  out  ranges  of  the  world  and  slowly 
deteriorating. 

Some  are  successful,  some  are  lucky  and  die 
young,  but  most  of  them  live  dreadful  lives  and 
suffer  for  years  entirely  because  of  the  preposterous, 
carve-out-a-career-abroad  theory.  If  a  man  cannot 
carve  out  one  at  home  he  won't  anywhere  else. 


144  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

unless  you  give  him  more  opportunity  and  more 
capital  than  he  would  have  had  at  home.  The 
parental  idea  is  a  vague  behef  in  the  prevalence  of 
opportunity;  it  is  as  a  rule  as  well  founded  as  all 
their  other  ideas  of  an  overseas  career. 

To  some  life  may  not  be  so  hard,  but  to  the  aver- 
age upper-class  English  boy,  the  loneliness,  savagery, 
and  mental  monotony  of  a  ranch  job  are  hopeless. 
Adventure,  romance,  and  change  of  scene — these 
dreams  soon  fade  from  the  imagination,  and  the 
savage  animalism  of  nature,  the  weary  futility  of 
it  all,  the  heavy  drag  of  time,  take  their  place. 
Enthusiasm  and  energy  give  way  before  fever  and 
the  unutterable  squalor  of  life.  Dirt  and  mos- 
quitoes attract  few  poets,  and  the  romance  of  over- 
seas is  only  a  romance  to  look  back  to  afterwards 
when  the  time  of  trial  is  over. 

For  a  ploughboy  or  a  country-bred  lad  these  may 
not  be  so  bad,  but  to  the  boy  from  the  big  cities— he 
who  has  lived  in  touch  with  civilization  and  the 
energy  centres  of  the  world— the  burden  is  an  im- 
possible one.  One  can  never  appreciate  civilization, 
comfort,  amusement,  and  art  until  one  has  been 
exiled.  Exile— compulsory  simple  life— is  merely  a 
complete  vindication  of  the  correctness  of  popular 
judgment  in  preferring  the  cities  to  the  waste  places. 
In  the  old  days  it  was  a  punishment,  now  a  career. 

It  is  not  exactly  fair  to  label  the  feelings  of  the 


THE  LOWER  ORDERS  145 

exiled  as  **  home-sickness  " — it  is  a  much  broader 
and  wider  sentiment ;  probably  the  Germans  have  a 
way  of  expressing  it  by  some  wonderful  compound 
word  beginning  with  *'  Heimat " ;  we  only  have  it 
in  the  sentiment  underlying  the  phrase,  **The  Old 
Country,"  or  **Home." 

To  sit  on  a  heat-blistering  veranda  and  read  the 
Christmas  numbers  of  illustrated  papers  fresh  from 
the  mail,  to  see  the  dear  old  advertisements  of 
restaurants  and  theatres  and  the  inevitable  picture 
of  "  Christmas  Eve  in  Piccadilly,"  or  "  Christmas  at 
the  Savoy  Hotel — Children's  Party,"  is  to  feel  home- 
sick, and  Christmas  Day  parties  are  really  rather 
pathetic  functions  when  you  are  one  of  a  few  strays 
in  another  hemisphere.  Roast  turkey — described 
on  American  menus  as  "  Roast  Young  Turkey" — with 
cranberry  sauce,  plum-pudding  (tinned),  and  the 
invasion  of  other  alien  dishes,  like  pumpkin-pie  and 
succotash,  are  poor  substitutes  for  the  real  thing; 
besides,  everyone  in  the  room  is  thinking  of 
"  home,"  and  such  gaiety  as  there  is  is  forced, 
wild,  in  the  hope  of  it  proving  a  mental  sleeping 
draught. 

Christmas  in  Mexico  is  a  horrible  season,  and 
everyone  is  glad  when  it  is  over ;  it  also  has  horrible 
trials  for  the  foreigner's  temper  in  the  shape  of  the 
parcel  post  department.  Everyone  in  Mexico  hires 
a  mail-box,  because  the  itinerant  postmen  are  too 

10 


146  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

dishonest  to  be  trusted,  and  parcels  must  be  collected 
from  the  central  post-office  in  person.  One  is 
handed  a  slip  of  paper  upon  which  is  written  the 
statement:  *'A  parcel  has  arrived  for  you:  apply 
at  the  window  " ;  and  torn  with  feelings  of  hope  and 
emotion  at  the  prospect  of  a  parcel  from  home,  you 
rush  round.  Half  an  hour  later,  having  expended 
about  a  dollar  on  Customs,  stamps,  and  visited 
many  official  departments  and  windows,  you  are 
handed  a  crushed  cardboard  box  containing  a 
calendar — value  sixpence  ha'penny — and  a  card, 
with  the  best  wishes  for  Christmas,  and  —  oh, 
hell ! — it  may  be  a  silk  tie,  price  half  a  crown ; 
Custom  duty  in  excess,  five  shillings,  and  you  hard 
up  at  the  time  ! 

The  Mexican  peon  is  the  only  form  of  labour  avail- 
able in  the  Republic,  and  there  is  only  one  way  of 
securing  a  sufficiency  of  peons  for  work  outside  the 
big  towns — that  is  to  employ  the  contract  labour, 
or,  as  they  are  called,  "enganchars." 

Much  has  been  written  condemning  the  contract 
labour  system  in  vogue  in  Mexico,  but  it  has  nearly 
all  been  written  by  people  who  were  not  conversant 
with  the  subject.  Before  condemning  the  system 
for  its  abuses  it  is  as  well  to  see  if  there  is  any 
satisfactory  substitute.  The  native  Mexican  peon 
is  human  in  several  respects,  his  leading  human 
attribute  being  that  he  does  not  like  work.     He  pre- 


THE  LOWER  ORDERS  147 

fers  to  loaf  and  breed  in  idleness.  The  native  is 
well  paid,  and  can  in  two  months  earn  sufficient  to 
support  him  in  idleness  for  the  remainder  of  the 
year.  He  lacks  ambition,  preferring  to  watch  his 
wife  do  the  work  and  live  on  the  produce  of  his 
little  garden  or  maize-patch.  The  planter  and  the 
contractor,  on  the  other  hand,  have  urgent  need  of 
manual  labour,  in  order  to  gather  their  produce  or 
build  their  embankments;  so  a  middleman's  pro- 
fession, that  of  supplier  of  labour,  was  invented.  The 
natives  are  bound  to  do  a  certain  amount  of  work  for 
so  many  months  at  a  definite  rate  of  pay.  So  far  so 
good.  In  many  cases  this  arrangement  is  carried  out 
properly  by  both  sides,  the  planter  having  to  take  pre- 
cautions against  desertion  and  shirking,  for  the  peon 
is  absolutely  untrustworthy  and  non-moral.  The 
trouble  starts  when  he  goes  to  a  plantation  where 
the  planter  is  also  a  thief.  The  peon's  labour  is 
appointed  by  piece-work,  and  he  is  compelled  to 
buy  his  food  and  small  necessaries  at  the  store  on 
the  ranch.  On  a  bad  plantation  he  soon  gets  into 
debt,  and  by  the  simple  process  of  keeping  him  in 
debt  by  setting  him  a  daily  task  that  he  cannot 
accomplish,  he  is  made  into  a  slave. 

The  Mexican  law  is  powerless  and  always 
corruptly  administered,  so  the  poor  peon  has  no 
remedy,  and  as  he  is  usually  housed  in  a  wide 
enclosure    he    cannot    run    away.      Writers    have 


148  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

drawn  attention  to  the  shocking  laxity  of  morals 
among  the  peons  and  their  employers.  This  is  a 
matter  totally  apart  from  the  contract  labour  system. 
The  morals  of  the  natives  are  practically  non- 
existent, and  cohabitation  is  the  rule  rather  than 
the  exception,  one  reason  being  that  very  high  fees 
are  charged  for  the  performance  of  the  marriage 
ceremony  by  the  Church ;  hence  the  peon  regards 
it  as  a  luxury  for  the  idle  rich. 

The  sweeping  condemnation  of  the  only  way  of 
getting  labour  in  the  Republic — because  some  few 
plantations  are  wickedly  run — is  unfair  and  foolish. 
Many  ranches  are  conducted  on  perfectly  fair  lines, 
and  the  majority  are  managed  in  a  way  suggesting 
the  best  era  of  feudal  times,  the  relations  between 
labour  and  the  managers  being  those  of  baron  and 
retainer,  and  perfectly  suited  to  the  needs  of  the 
people  and  the  country. 

In  the  cities  unskilled  labour  is  plentiful,  but  the 
town-bred  Mexican  is  usually  a  thorough  blackguard. 
In  the  City  of  Mexico  I  had  control  of  a  large  gang 
of  peons  in  an  engineering  yard,  and  was  able  to 
study  them  at  my  leisure.  Briefly  speaking,  they 
are  all  thieves,  and  will  steal  anything  pawnable. 
They  are  absolutely  non-moral,  lazy  and  thickheaded 
to  a  degree,  and  if  left  to  themselves  perfectly  use- 
less. On  the  other  hand,  if  looked  after  by  a  white 
foreman  who  can  direct  petty  details  of  their  labours 


THE  LOWER  ORDERS  149 

and  keep  them  working,  they  are  fairly  satisfactory. 
A  bully  will  get  little  work  out  of  them  and  lots  of 
trouble;  but  treat  them  as  big  children,  and  they 
are  fairly  efficient. 

The  next  class  is  the  mechanic  or  artisan  class, 
and  these  are  of  much  better  stock.  They  are 
painstaking,  careful  workers,  but  slow  and  casual 
with  regard  to  finish.  For  the  most  part  they  are 
purely  mechanical  workers,  and  lack  initiative  and 
resource;  but  as  their  wages  are  about  a  quarter 
those  of  a  white  man  they  are  enabled  to  produce 
work  at  a  very  cheap  rate.  Their  mental  limitations 
are  not  those  of  the  peon  class,  and  they  can  mostly 
read  and  write,  but  they  do  not  exercise  these 
talents  any  more  than  do  the  lower  classes  of  our 
European  cities. 

The  servant  problem  is  just  as  bad  in  Mexico 
City  as  it  is  elsewhere ;  indeed,  one  can  easily  say 
that  it  is  very  much  worse,  as  one  has  to  deal  with 
the  "  custom  of  the  country."  A  house-boy  (a  com- 
bination of  housemaid  and  butler)  receives  as  much 
as  forty  dollars  a  month,  and,  in  addition,  can  be 
expected  to  steal  and  wear  his  master's  clothes,  sup- 
port a  family  with  stolen  food,  and  bring  strangers 
into  the  house.  He  will,  in  return  for  these  per- 
quisites, make  your  bed,  flick  up  the  dust  in  your 
rooms,  and  receive  visitors  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  He 
has  no  regular  day  out,  but  is  out  most  evenings 


150  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

and  afternoons  ;  continually  brings  bills  for  brooms, 
soap,  and  household  implements,  and  never  by  any 
chance  keeps  them.  The  bill  is — like  his  other 
services — imaginary.  Still,  you  cannot  do  without 
him,  so  have  to  put  up  v^ith  it. 

Cooks  are  rare,  and  command  high  prices.  The 
usual  Mexican  cook  is  a  fat  old  Indian  woman,  with 
a  large  and  noisy  family,  who  wears  a  filthy,  shape- 
less white  garment,  and  her  hair  loose  down  her 
back.  She  steals  two-thirds  of  the  money  you  give 
her  for  marketing  purposes,  and  feeds  one  on 
garbage  with  the  remainder.  Should  the  unhappy 
householder  object  to  any  of  their  servants'  ways, 
the  servants  just  walk  out — no  giving  notice,  no 
consideration  affects  them ;  they  just  go,  and  the 
householder  cooks  his  own  dinner  on  a  blazing  hot 
day  in  an  unventilated  kitchen.  Another  pleasing 
trait  of  cooks  is  that  when  they  go  they  take  all 
the  kitchen  utensils — enamelled  saucepans,  plates, 
knives  and  forks — every  scrap  of  food,  and  every- 
thing portable.  They  leave  the  kitchen  absolutely 
bare,  and — vanish. 

Characters  are  useless  to  go  upon,  and  the  want 
of  decent  servants  is  such  that  I  have  known  a  lady 
to  tempt  her  friend's  cook  with  an  offer  of  higher 
wages !  There  is  only  one  way  to  deal  with  a  bad 
cook  who  persists  in  sending  in  inedible  dishes, 
which  she  knows  will  be  returned  untasted  to  the 


THE  LOWER  ORDERS  151 

kitchen,  where  they  will  be  devoured  by  her 
relations,  and  that  is  to  keep  a  dog.  Give  the  dog 
the  abomination,  and  the  cook  will  either  improve 
or  leave.  No  Mexican  feeds  a  dog — it  strikes  them 
as  sacrilege. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  DAWN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

The  Mexican  "Centennial,"  the  Republic's  hun- 
dredth birthday,  had  been  celebrated,  and  the 
various  diplomatic  piissions  from  Europe  had  re- 
turned home.  The  people  were  resting  after  a 
month's  continuous  gaiety,  and  the  faded  decora- 
tions still  hung  in  the  streets,  when  a  small  para- 
graph appeared  in  the  paper  stating  that  "  the 
agitator,  Francisco  Madero,  had  been  released." 

No  one  knew  much  about  him  except  that  he 
had  foolishly  opposed  the  re-election  of  President 
Porfirio  Diaz,  and  had  been  put  in  prison  on  a 
faked  charge  in  order  to  keep  him  out  of  harm's 
way  during  the  Centennial. 

Madero,  after  his  release,  left  for  his  native  State 
of  Coahuila,  and  soon  we  heard  rumours  of  a  revolt 
on  the  American  frontier,  and  of  outrages  in  Chi- 
huahua. The  general  consensus  of  opinion  was  that 
the  rising  would  be  put  down  in  a  day  or  two; 
even  reactionary  opinion  was  favourable  to  Diaz, 
though  all  joined  in  condemning  the  Vice-President, 

152 


«   ♦  'o 


FRANCISCO  I.  MADERO 
BEBEL,  LEADER,  LATE  PRESIDENT  OF  MEXICO 


THE  DAWN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION     153 

Don  Ramon  Corral.  No  one  had  a  good  word  to 
say  for  him  except  President  Diaz. 

News  reached  us  slowly,  and  for  a  week  the 
revolution  smouldered  as  a  local  uprising,  till  a 
fierce  affray  took  place  at  Puebla,  where  a  re- 
actionary, called  Cerdan,  had  started  a  plot  against 
the  Government.  When  the  soldiers  went  to  arrest 
him,  he  armed  his  household  and  his  women-folk, 
and  stood  out  a  siege  of  twenty-four  hours.  The 
military  at  last  broke  in,  and  on  the  persons  of  the 
captives  documents  were  discovered  that  showed 
the  existence  of  a  regularly  organized  plot  all  over 
the  country,  including  large  quantities  of  correspon- 
dence and  a  great  deal  of  money,  also  commissions 
in  the  rebel  army  signed  by  Madero. 

The  Government  began  to  take  the  plot  seriously, 
and  sent  an  army  corps  north  into  Chihuahua  in 
order  to  crush  the  rising.  Battles  were  fought,  and 
it  was  claimed  that  the  rebels  had  been  annihilated 
on  the  field  of  Cerro  Prieto,  which  victory  was 
celebrated  in  Mexico  City.  Unofficial  information 
credited  the  rebels  with  the  victory,  and  announced 
that  dead  Federals  were  to  be  seen,  but  few  dead 
rebels. 

Troops  went  to  the  front  continually,  and  none 
returned.  General  Luque,  a  personal  friend  of  the 
President  and  Chief  of  Staff,  went  on  a  private 
mission,  and  did  not  come  back.     Madero  was  in 


154  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

the  United  States,  controlling  the  revolutionary 
Junta.  Then  for  a  month  or  two  came  no  news 
except  of  skirmishes. 

The  public  opinion  was  changing,  and  Diaz  was 
unpopular.  The  end  of  the  revolution  was  con- 
tinually announced,  but  the  railway  traffic  was 
persistently  interrupted.  Finally,  the  rebels  took 
one  or  two  towns,  and  eventually  invested  the 
important  city  of  Chihuahua. 

When  this  news  arrived  there  was  a  general 
sensation,  and  the  news  of  the  mobilization  by 
the  United  States  of  an  army  corps  for  the  border 
increased  the  tension  to  an  almost  unbearable 
degree.  All  foreigners  became  unpopular,  and 
an  invasion  would  have  provoked  a  massacre.  It 
was  now  evident  that  the  whole  of  the  northern 
provinces  were  out  of  control,  and  fighting  was  in 
progress  in  the  State  of  Lower  California,  where  a 
gang  of  American  Socialists  had  proclaimed  an 
independent  Republic. 

A  British  naval  officer  was  appealed  to  for  pro- 
tection by  the  authorities  of  one  of  the  coast  towns 
in  Lower  California,  and  he  landed  a  small  party 
of  bluejackets.  The  Mexicans  were  furious,  and 
the  Americans  felt  that  they  were  rather  behind- 
hand if  the  "Johnny  Bulls"  were  going  to  act  as 
promptly  as  this  for  the  protection  of  British 
interests.     Europeans  became  very  unpopular,  and 


THE  DAWN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION     155 

the  Japanese  were  hailed  as  friends.  Being  much 
of  the  same  colour  as  Mexicans,  they  are  greatly 
approved  of  by  the  natives. 

The  South  of  Mexico  nov^  began  to  rise,  and  soon 
the  States  of  Guerrero  and  Oaxaca  were  in  revolt. 
Figuerroa,  a  well-known  and  respected  Mexican, 
was  the  revolutionary  leader  on  the  South,  and 
under  his  leadership  the  rising  extended. 

Foreigners  were,  for  the  most  part,  unmolested, 
but  wisely  they  sent  in  their  women  and  children 
to  Mexico  City,  from  whence  nearly  all  those  who 
could  afford  to  go  went  to  the  States. 

Haciendas  were  raided,  and  massacres  of 
Spaniards  and  Chinese  took  place. 

Robberies  were  common,  and  property  lost  its 
value.  Foreign  firms  in  Mexico  City  had  to  close 
down,  and  "society,"  such  as  existed,  was  depleted. 

The  attitude  of  the  foreign  colony  was  peculiar. 
It  refused  to  recognize  the  existence  of  the 
revolution  till  it  actually  came  home  to  them  in 
the  shape  of  the  death  or  ruin  of  a  friend.  The 
state  of  affairs  in  the  country  was  hopeless. 
Mines  had  to  be  abandoned,  for  the  labourers  pre- 
ferred robbery  under  arms  to  manual  labour,  and 
joined  the  rebels  in  a  body,  looting  the  stores  of 
the  mines  and  giving  valueless  bills,  '*  payable  on 
the  success  of  the  revolution,"  in  exchange. 

Many  incidents  were  related  of  attacks  and  insult 


156  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

to  foreigners,  but  the  Mexican  Government  cen- 
sored news,  and  the  diplomatists  had  instructions 
to  keep  quiet.  In  fact,  the  Corps  Diplomatique  in 
Mexico  sent  the  strongest  representations  to  their 
home  Governments  that  American  intervention 
would  be  fatal.  These  views  were  duly  communi- 
cated to  Washington. 

An  old  school  friend  of  mine,  who  was  a  manager 
for  the  English  Lumber  Company  in  Michoacan, 
came  up  to  the  city.  He  had  been  forced  to  leave 
his  mill  and  belongings,  as  the  mountain  Indians 
had  joined  the  rebels  and  were  destroying  all 
foreigners'  property  His  narrative  was  vivid — a 
picture  in  itself  of  the  Mexican  temperament,  bar- 
barism and  Spanish  cruelty.  The  native  foreman 
of  his  mill  had  been  seized  by  the  revolutionaries, 
tortured,  and  finally  torn  apart  between  two  horses. 
The  native  clerks  had  been  stoned  to  death,  and 
their  bodies  thrown  into  the  burning  ruin  of  the 
mill.  Later,  this  same  band  of  rebels  sacked  the 
town  of  Morelia. 

The  native  Press  took  advantage  of  the  general 
disturbance  to  issue  the  most  flagrant  incitements  to 
treason ;  some  local  journals  even  advocating  the 
expulsion  of  Americans  and  foreigners.  Ramon 
Corral,  the  Vice-President,  whose  health  had  been 
bad  for  some  time,  sent  in  his  resignation,  under  the 
pressure  of  public  opinion.    This  move,  earlier  in 


THE  DAWN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION     157 

the  trouble,  would  have  saved  the  situation,  but 
disorder  had  now  spread  too  far. 

The  outward  causes  of  the  revolt  were  the  un- 
popularity of  the  Vice-President,  and  the  general 
feeling  that  President  Diaz  was  not  immortal,  and 
that  he  had  taken  no  steps  to  nominate  and  secure 
a  popular  successor.  From  these  two  facts  sprang 
the  revolution  which  advanced  the  political  doctrines 
of  Universal  Franchise  and  no  re-election.  These 
became  popular  slogans,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
about  60  per  cent,  of  the  population  of  Mexico  is 
illiterate. 

This  large  proportion  of  voters  would  either  take 
the  advice  of  the  local  priest  in  political  matters,  or 
vote  for  a  popular  candidate  without  in  the  least 
examining  his  qualifications  for  a  responsible  post. 
An  educated  Mexican  gentleman,  one  of  the  partisans 
of  the  Diaz,  or,  as  it  is  more  usually  called,  "  Scien- 
tifico  "  Party,  explained  the  mental  power  of  the 
Mexican  peon. 

"  The  peon,"  he  said, "  is  a  great  hero-worshipper." 
Bull-fighters  are  their  greatest  heroes,  and  next  to 
that  a  leading  bandit  is  their  most  popular  character. 
These  are  the  only  two  roles  that  they  are  ambitious 
to  play.  An  impartial  election  would  return  a 
bull-fighter  as  President  and  a  bandit  as  Prime 
Minister.  Whichever  party  rules  Mexico  there  can 
be  no  "  Universal  Suffrage." 


158  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

The  "No  re-election"  cry  was  popular.  The 
people  saw  that  it  would  prevent  the  estabhshment 
of  another  military  dictatorship,  and  President  Diaz 
himself  was  in  favour  of  the  movement ;  at  least  he 
issued  a  proclamation  to  that  effect. 

The  final  scenes  of  the  revolution  were  pathetic. 
The  Chamber  of  Deputies  was  divided  against  itself, 
and  the  city  was  in  the  hands  of  the  mob.  President 
Diaz  at  last  consented  to  resign,  and  it  was  arranged 
that  Senor  de  la  Barra,  who  had  been  the  Mexican 
Minister  at  Washington,  should  be  proclaimed  as 
^^ interim  President"  until  the  revolution  should 
cease  and  an  election  could  be  carried  out. 

The  day  on  which  the  President  was  expected  to 
resign  was  memorable,  for,  instead  of  handing  in  his 
resignation,  he  sent  a  message  excusing  himself  on 
the  grounds  of  ill-health,  and  saying  he  would 
appear — "  manana  !" 

The  Chamber  rose  in  disorder,  and  bloody  fighting 
took  place  in  the  capital.  The  next  day  Diaz  re- 
signed, and  in  the  midst  of  the  rejoicings,  fled  to 
Vera  Cruz. 

Madero  and  his  successful  rebels  marched  south, 
and  the  rebels,  surrounding  the  city,  entered  to  pre- 
serve order,  and  decorated  the  battered  streets  to 
greet  the  popular  hero,  Don  Francisco  I.  Madero. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SHOT-GUN  JOURNALIST 

Mexico  City  was  depressed.  Wars  and  rumours 
of  wars  were  frightening  away  foreign  capital,  and 
the  business  people  were  looking  blue.  On  the  top 
of  this  came  news  that  the  U.S.A.  had  mobilized  an 
army  corps  to  sit  on  the  Texas-Mexico  border, 
and  the  City  of  Mexico,  usually  asleep,  began  to 
wake  up  and  develop  incidents. 

I  immediately  turned  to  pen  and  ink  and  bom- 
barded some  of  the  big  papers  in  the  States  for  an 
appointment  as  "the  man  on  the  spot."  Having 
bought  a  Sunday  edition  of  the  journal  I  preferred, 
I  waded  through  the  comic  and  football  sections,  and 
eventually  found  the  news  page.  Its  happy  dis- 
regard for  truth  was  charming.  I  immediately  sent 
a  contribution,  which  appeared  with  red  capitals  an 
inch  high  in  the  next  Sunday  edition,  and  I  was 
authorized  to  go  ahead  and  "  cover  "  the  revolution. 

The  Mexican  Government  was  not  enthusiastic 
about  foreign  journalists,  as  a  number  of  articles 

159 


i6o  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

detrimental  to  Mexico  had  been  published  in  the 
States,  and  an  English  archaeologist,  who  had  been 
a  tourist  trip  in  Yucatan,  was  busy  in  a  new  r6le  as 
Critic  of  Tropical  Morality.  Under  these  circum- 
stances I  laid  low,  and  did  not  advertise  my  latest  job. 

The  rebels  were  unfortunately  several  hundred 
miles  away,  but  there  were  rumours  of  rebels  every- 
where, and  I  betook  myself  to  a  leading  "Maderista  " 
(a  political  follower  of  Don  Francisco  I.  Madero, 
the  rebel  leader)  for  information. 

He  was  a  cheery  soul,  totally  irresponsible,  and  a 
typical  lower-class  Mexican.  By  profession  he  was 
an  engineer's  draughtsman,  and  earned  about  thirty 
shillings  per  week.  His  hobby  was  conspiracy,  and 
to  him  I  explained  my  desperate  need  of  news.  I 
explained  freedom  with  a  large  "  F,"  and  babbled  of 
the  liberty  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Press.  H  e  succumbed 
to  the  temptation  of  having  his  club  mentioned  as  a 
real  revolutionary  secret  society,  and  swore  me  to 
secrecy  as  far  as  Mexico  was  concerned;  then, 
assuming  an  air  of  great  mystery,  I  was  told  to 
wait  outside  the  Cafe  Colon  at  seven  o'clock  that 
evening.  Punctually  I  was  at  the  rendezvous,  and 
after  a  minute  or  two's  wait,  a  newsboy  approached 
me,  and  under  cover  of  selling  me  a  paper,  pushed  a 
note  into  my  hand  and  departed  mysteriously.  I 
opened  the  missive  and  found  that  my  instructions 
were  to  go  to  Maria  Guerrero  Theatre  and  wait  till 


THE  SHOT-GUN  JOURNALIST        i6i 

approached  by  a  man  who  would  whisper  to  me 
"  Libertad,"  then  I  was  to  follow  him  closely. 

It  seemed  rather  like  a  game  of  "  follow  my  leader," 
but  I  was  interested,  and  hiring  a  hack,  set  off  for 
the  "  Maria  Guerrero."  This  theatre  is  the  liveliest 
in  Mexico  City,  and  caters  to  the  lower  orders.  Its 
foyer  is  rather  like  the  under  side  of  a  railway  bridge, 
or  the  hall  of  a  cheap  tenement.  Having  avoided 
the  attentions  of  the  ticket  speculators,  and  entered 
the  foyer,  I  was  greeted  by  a  mysterious  and  dirty 
Mexican,  who  breathed  on  me  a  garHc  -  scented 
"Libertad."  I  gasped,  turned,  and  followed  him 
through  the  garbage  of  endless  slums,  down  narrow 
alleys  of  high  Spanish  houses,  their  windows  barred 
and  shuttered,  under  dark  archways,  disturbing 
peaceful,  sleeping  watchmen.  Finally  he  drew  up 
at  a  low  door  in  a  street  somewhere  in  the  suburb 
of  Peralvillo,  and  knocked  twice. 

With  rattling  of  chains  and  scraping  of  bolts,  the 
door  opened  and  an  aged  crone  looked  out,  holding 
a  lamp  above  her  head.  She  recognized  my  guide 
and  reluctantly  admitted  us.  We  followed  her 
down  a  long  passage  and  across  a  courtyard,  where 
we  disturbed  the  roosting  hens,  and  finally  entered 
a  small  room  at  the  back.  There  I  was  greeted  by 
my  revolutionary  friend,  and  introduced  to  the 
members  of  the  circle. 

Round  a  table  covered  with  glasses  and  packets 


i62  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

of  cigarettes,  sat  as  queer  a  body  of  men  as  one 
could  find.  Some  were  elderly  respectable  citizens 
clad  in  dark  European  clothes,  others  were  in  the 
national  dress  of  Mexico — the  charro  riding  costume ; 
and  a  sprinkling  of  soldiers  in  uniform,  and  students 
in  crimson-lined  conspirators'  cloaks,  completed  the 
setting. 

By  the  door  an  old  Indian  rocked  to  and  fro  on 
his  haunches.  He  was  as  old  as  the  mountain  from 
which  he  came,  and  he  had  seen  Benito  Juarez  and 
Maximilian  in  his  youth.  The  room  was  blue  with 
cigarette  smoke  and  hot  with  humanity.  The  clink 
of  glasses  came  from  outside,  where  a  woman  was 
washing  the  coarse  tumblers  in  a  fountain  in  the 
patio;  and  through  the  door,  where  the  cigarette 
smoke  floated  out  in  wisps  across  the  light  of  the 
lamp,  one  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  night  sky,  crisp 
with  stars  over  the  black  masses  of  the  neighbouring 
roofs. 

When  the  stir  caused  by  our  entry  and  introduc- 
tion had  subsided,  a  seat  was  found  for  me,  and  a 
short  man  of  almost  pure  Indian  blood  commenced 
speaking.  In  short,  impassioned  sentences  he 
attacked  the  tyranny  of  the  Diaz  regime,  and 
enumerated  the  virtues  of  Madero  and  his  policy, 
till,  working  up  to  his  climax,  in  which  the  liquid 
Spanish  accents  seemed  to  chill  and  turn  to  speech 
of  diamond  hardness,  he  threw  out  his  hands  to  the 


-  \ 

\  j 

! 

i 

^ 


THE  SHOT-GUN  JOURNALIST        163 

picture  of  Madero  on  the  wall,  and  with  dramatic 
suddenness  ceased.  A  subdued  buzz  of  ** vivas" 
broke  out,  and  general  health  was  drunk  to  "  Los 
rebeldes"  (the  rebels).  Maps  were  brought  out: 
I  was  shown  the  towns  on  the  map  where  other 
Circles  of  **  Red  Liberals  "  were  in  being,  and  told 
the  number  of  arms  that  they  had  in  store.  The 
North  of  the  Republic  had  risen  against  the  Tyrant ; 
the  South  was  waiting  for  definite  news,  and  then 
a  wave  of  armed  patriots  would  sweep  the  Presi- 
dency clear,  and  seat  Madero  in  Chapultepec.  I 
soon  saw  enough  evidence  to  grasp  that  nothing 
could  save  the  Government.  Half  their  own  men 
were  sold  to  the  rebels,  while  treachery  stalked 
through  the  official  circles,  where  a  grim  political 
throat-cutting  was  in  progress.  The  real  cause 
of  the  revolution  was  lack  of  promotion  for  the 
younger  generation — and  senile  decay  of  the  older 
officials. 

Here  were  men  who,  outwardly  staunch  supporters 
of  the  existing  regime,  were  intriguing  night  and 
day,  and  in  order  to  grab  some  Government  billet. 
They  were  typical  Latin-American  patriots  ! 

It  was  now  nearly  three  in  the  morning,  and  the 
conspirators  proceeded  to  leave  for  their  homes. 
They  left  one  by  one  at  intervals  of  about  five 
minutes.  In  my  case  an  exception  was  made,  and 
accompanied  by  an  earnest  medical  student,  I  left. 


i64  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

Alone  I  should  never  have  been  able  to  find  my  way 
back 

The  medico  boy  was  charming.  He  explained  to 
me  the  feuds  and  rivalries  of  the  Cruz  Roja  and  the 
Cruz  Azul  (the  Red  Cross  and  the  Blue  Cross).  It 
appeared  that  the  Red  Cross  was  run  by  Government 
men,  and  for  that  reason  was  not  admitting  wounded 
rebels  to  its  field  hospitals — in  fact  there  were  no 
wounded  rebels.  The  Federals  always  put  them 
out  of  their  misery!  I  was  deeply  pained,  and 
suggested  that  this  was  not  usual  in  civilized 
warfare. 

The  student  was  certain  of  it,  and  said  that  the 
Blue  Cross,  the  rival  amateur  hospital — to  which  he 
belonged — attended  to  all  poor  Mexicans  who  were 
wounded,  without  any  fine  distinctions  between  the 
rebels  and  federals. 

Later,  when  we  had  trouble  in  the  city,  the  pro- 
fessional pride  of  the  rival  organizations  was  delight- 
ful. The  Red  Cross  people  would  not  recognize 
the  Blue  Cross,  and  stretcher-bearers  of  the  one 
party  stole  the  dead  and  wounded  from  the  stretchers 
of  the  other;  or  both  abandoned  wounded  men 
because  the  rival  crowd  had  claimed  them. 

The  assistants  were  mostly  boy  students  and 
chemists,  with  a  few  ladies  of  mature  years  as 
nurses.  I  met  one  hero  clinging  to  a  lamp-post, 
being  very  sick  indeed.    The  poor  boy  had  just 


THE  SHOT-GUN  JOURNALIST       165 

seen  his  first  victim — a  man  who  had  been  sabred 
during  a  cavalry  charge. 

Their  pride  in  their  work  was  amazing:  during 
the  riots  they  chartered  public  cabs,  and  throwing 
over  the  hoods  a  sheet  marked  with  the  Blue  Cross, 
paraded  about  the  streets  in  the  wake  of  the  cavalry 
squadrons — ready  and  anxious  for  victims. 

The  city  was  full  of  news  and  rumours  of  news. 
Finally  the  events  began  to  draw  closer,  the  hotels 
filled  with  the  refugees  and  the  white  people 
sent  their  families  to  the  States.  When  the  train 
to  the  health  resort  of  Cuernavaca  was  shot  upon , 
the  rubber  expert,  Dr.  Olson  Seffer,  killed,  within 
twenty  miles  of  Mexico  City,  things  began  to  look 
rather  blue  for  the  foreign  residents;  and  every- 
where it  was  recognized  that  any  invasion  of  Mexico 
by  the  U.S.A.  would  mean  a  massacre  of  foreigners 
throughout  the  Republic. 

Good  stories  were  plentiful,  and  everybody  who 
had  **  come  in  "  from  the  wilder  parts  of  the  country 
had  hair-raising  yarns  of  Indian  risings  and  local 
disturbances,  but  the  difficulty  was  to  get  the  news 
through  to  the  States.  At  first  the  postal  service 
was  fairly  reliable,  but  as  the  railroads  were  de- 
stroyed by  the  rebels  and  mail-vans  burnt,  it  was 
not  long  before  all  chances  of  stuff  getting  through 
vanished.  The  cables  were  frequently  interrupted, 
and   the  Federal  Telegraph   Service  only  worked 


i66  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

through  a  short  radius  round  the  capital.  Soon  all 
that  was  left  to  us  was  the  Vera  Cruz  cable  and 
postal  route. 

I  despatched  any  news  by  post  till  the  officials 
hung  out  a  notice,  "  Servicio  interrompido  "  (Service 
interrupted),  and  then  I  foregathered  in  a  saloon 
with  other  newspaper  men  and  cursed  the  luck. 

Later  I  ran  into  an  Englishman  who  lived  outside 
the  city,  about  five  miles  away.  He  was  bursting 
with  news  of  an  outrage  on  a  hacienda  next  to 
his  own  dairy  farm.  I  drew  him  into  a  neighbour- 
ing saloon,  swore  him  to  silence,  and  collected  a 
letter  from  him  authorizing  his  servants  to  give 
me  a  horse  and  saddle ;  then  went  off  by  electric 
tram  to  his  farm. 

The  "  mozos "  (native  servants)  on  the  hacienda 
were  very  upset,  and  told  me  tales  of  squadrons 
of  armed  "  revoltosos  "  riding  by  moonlight  to  out- 
lying haciendas.  I  discounted  this  news,  picked 
a  decent  horse,  and  soon  reached  the  scene  of  the 
outrage. 

Pickets  of  Rurales  and  cavalry  were  dotted  about 
the  fields,  and  the  hacienda  was  full  of  officers  and 
police  examining  scared  Indians.  On  the  doorstep 
hovered  one  or  two  Mexican  pressmen,  armed  I 
with  notebooks  and  cameras  ;  evidently  journalists 
were  not  welcome.  ^ 

I  dismounted  and  gave  my  horse  to  a  soldier  to 


THE  SHOT-GUN  JOURNALIST        167 

hold.  Going  up  to  the  door,  I  was  stopped  by  an 
officer,  who  inquired  my  business.  I  explained 
that  I  wished  to  see  the  officer  in  command  on 
urgent  business.  The  lieutenant  was  unmoved; 
he  wanted  details,  and  I  had  to  manufacture  details 
at  once.  I  told  him  that  I  was  an  Englishman 
from  the  neighbouring  hacienda,  and  wished  to  be 
assured  of  efficient  military  protection  for  my  pro- 
perty. To  my  annoyance  he  offered  me  a  troop 
of  men.  I  thanked  him,  but  persisted  that  I  must 
see  the  General,  and  insinuated  that  possibly  there 
was  dissatisfaction  among  my  employes.  This 
bait  was  swallowed,  and  I  was  passed  in. 

The  living-room  of  the  hacienda  was  full  of 
officials,  and  the  General  was  engaged,  so  I  talked 
to  a  local  "jefe  politico,"  and  drew  from  him  the 
story.  It  appeared  that  the  rancho  belonged  to  a 
family  consisting  of  a  father,  two  sons,  and  a 
daughter.  Aroused  by  the  barking  of  the  dogs 
at  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  younger 
son  had  risen  and  looked  out  into  the  corral.  He 
saw  men  moving,  and  challenged  them ;  as  there 
was  no  reply  he  grabbed  up  a  carbine  and  fired  into 
the  shadows.  The  raiders  directed  a  return  fire  at 
his  window,  and  the  youth  fell  riddled  with  bullets. 

All  secrecy  was  now  thrown  aside.  The  raiders, 
about  twenty  in  number,  broke  in  the  door  of  the 
hacienda  with   the   pole    of  a    farm-waggon,  and 


i68  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

rushed  to  loot  it.  From  the  tales  of  the  servants 
it  appeared  that  the  old  man  and  the  son  put  up 
a  fight,  but  were  soon  shot  down,  though  it  is 
certain  that  they  wounded  one  or  more  of  their 
assailants. 

The  daughter  was  still  alive.  The  poor  thing 
sat  among  the  crowd  of  officials  attended  by  a 
couple  of  old  peon  women.  Crouched  on  the  floor 
at  the  feet  of  her  murdered  father  and  brother,  she 
had  covered  her  head  with  a  shawl,  and  rocked  to 
and  fro  sobbing  continually.  The  men  talked  in 
subdued  whispers,  and  the  woman's  sobs  came  at 
regular  intervals,  always  on  the  same  high  note, 
like  a  man  in  the  delirium  of  fever.  Outside  in 
the  courtyard  the  soldiers  joked  with  one  another, 
and  the  noise  of  a  horse  shaking  himself  in  his 
saddle  seemed  to  show  how  utterly  bored  every- 
body was. 

According  to  Mexican  law,  bodies  may  not  be 
moved  until  the  authorities  have  viewed  them,  and 
upstairs  in  the  little  room  over  the  gate  lay  the 
body  of  the  youth  who  had  fired  on  the  rebels. 
He  lay  just  as  he  had  been  left  by  them  ;  they  had 
taken  his  rifle  and  cartridges,  and  the  little  room 
was  all  in  disorder,  the  only  thing  untouched  being 
a  little  crucifix  above  the  narrow  bed.  "Ay  que 
povre  !— si  joven  "  ("  Poor  fellow ! — and  so  young  ") 
said  the  sentry. 


THE  SHOT-GUN  JOURNALIST        169 

I  collected  the  information,  and  telling  the  officer 
that  as  the  General  was  so  busy  I  would  return 
later,  I  left  the  house.  The  journalists  on  the  door- 
step besieged  me.  I  regretted  I  could  tell  them 
nothing,  and  left  for  my  friend's  hacienda.  As  I 
returned  his  horse,  up  came  an  American  corre- 
spondent. He  inquired  how  things  were,  and  I 
left  him  to  find  out. 

Back  to  the  city  and  the  post-office,  and  just  in 
time  for  the  mail.  "Good!"  I  told  myself;  "that 
furnishes  some  Sunday  reading  for  the  Middle- 
West — two  columns  at  least." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  DAY'S  WORK 

As  I  rode  down  the  mountain  trail  into  the  crowded 
plaza  I  could  see  that  the  little  Mexican  town  of 
Tamalpa  was  astir  with  unusual  events.  Here  was 
history  in  the  making,  for  the  little  adobe  building 
with  the  proud  inscription  "  Hotel  Juarez,"  in  sky- 
blue  letters  three  feet  high,  on  its  whitewashed  wall, 
was  the  headquarters  of  General  Aamargo,  Jefe  del 
Battalion  (Commander-in-Chief),  of  the  Federal 
troops  in  the  province  of  Michoacan. 

Dismounting  at  the  door,  the  dusty  and  travel- 
tired  correspondent  inquired  of  the  ragged  and 
be-chevroned  sergeant  for  the  whereabouts  of  the 
General.  The  sergeant  became  pompous  and 
dignified,  puffing  out  his  chest  after  the  manner 
of  a  grandee  of  Spain,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the 
hilt  of  his  bayonet,  explained  that  the  General  was 
now  engaged. 

Having  been  long  in  the  country,  I  did  not  reply, 
but  produced  my  cigar-case.  The  sentry's  eyes 
brightened  and  his  strained  attitude  relaxed  as  he 
accepted  the  bribe. 

170 


*  *  ?  < 


A  DAY'S  WORK  171 

With  a  flowery  expression  of  gratitude,  he  gave 
me  his  rifle  to  hold,  and  disappeared  in  search  of  a 
superior  officer.  I  leant  the  weapon  against  the 
jamb  of  the  door,  and,  slackening  the  girths  of  my 
saddle,  tied  my  horse  to  the  veranda  rail  and  sat 
down  to  await  the  sentry's  return. 

The  little  market-square  was  ablaze  with  colour, 
the  bright  sashes  and  zerapes  of  the  natives  con- 
trasting vividly  with  the  drab-coloured  uniforms  of 
the  barefooted  soldiery.  The  men  were  lounging 
about  in  groups,  or  resting  in  the  shadows  of  the 
houses,  while  their  women-folk  bargained  with  the 
local  natives  for  fruit  and  eatables,  raising  a  shrill 
hubbub  over  their  bargaining.  Jests  were  being 
bandied  to  and  fro,  and  in  a  corner  of  the  plaza  a 
small  group  laughed  over  the  attempts  of  a  girl  who 
was  trying  to  blow  a  bugle.  Occasionally  a  mounted 
orderly  would  ride  in  at  a  canter,  his  pony's 
heels  raising  clouds  of  dust,  and  threatening  the 
safety  of  the  little  semi-nude  children  who  played 
amongst  the  stalls  and  stoned  the  thieving  pariah 
dogs. 

Mexico  was  in  revolt,  and  this  was  war-time — not 
manoeuvres,  I  thought,  as  I  mentally  contrasted  the 
scene  with  the  disciplined  regimental  camps  that  I 
had  seen  on  Salisbury  Plain. 

A  touch  on  my  shoulder  brought  my  thoughts 
back  from  far-away  England,  and  I  found  the  sentry 


172  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

and  a  lieutenant  at  my  elbow.  Briefly  I  explained 
my  mission  and  produced  my  credentials. 

*'The  senor  has  come  to  see  the  fighting?"  said 
the  lieutenant.  "  I  am  afraid  that  there  will  not  be 
any,  for  the  rebels  are  already  losing  heart — but  to- 
morrow we  commence  a  flanking  movement!"  He 
smiled  with  the  self-conscious  importance  of  a 
musical  comedy  major-general.  **I" — he  added, 
"am  on  the  staff!" 

The  sentry  led  away  the  tired  horse  while  I 
followed  the  lieutenant  into  the  temporary  head- 
quarters, and  was  introduced  to  the  little  gathering. 
They  were  charming  in  their  welcome.  In  a  corner 
was  a  cane  chair,  in  which  reclined  a  fat  little  man  in 
uniform.  The  occupant  of  the  chair  was  snoring, 
and  had  spread  a  paper  over  his  face  to  keep  off 
the  flies ;  by  his  side  rested  a  pair  of  dirty  riding- 
boots,  and  I  noted  that  he  wore  socks  of  a  distinctive 
black-and-white  tartan,  and  that  the  left  sock  needed 
darning. 

"  That  is  General  Aamargo,"  whispered  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

Food  was  brought,  and  soon,  refreshed,  I  began 
to  inquire  for  information.  The  dirty  plates  were 
taken  away,  and  on  the  table  one  of  the  officers 
spread  a  much-stained  map.  Weighting  this  down 
at  the  corners  with  their  glasses,  the  little  group  drew 
round,  while  the  senior  officer— a  colonel  of  engineers 


I 


A  DAY'S  WORK  173 

—demonstrated  the  plan  of  operations,  tracing  a 
toothpick  along  the  faded  lines.  The  General  turned 
uneasily  in  his  chair,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
resumed  his  snoring. 

**  We  are  here — and  there— and  there  lie  our  out- 
posts. The  rebels,  such  as  they  are,  have  been 
encountered  at  so-and-so  —  a  little  'affair  of  the 
outposts,*  you  know — a  skirmish.  To-morrow  we 
commence  a  flanking  action,  and  join  General 
Navarrez's  column  at  Morelia,  sweeping  the  country 
clear,"  said  the  colonel,  thrusting  out  his  hands  to 
illustrate  the  utterness  of  the  proposed  sweeping 
movement. 

After  making  a  few  notes,  I  was  soon  deep  in  a 
discussion  on  the  virtues  of  English  saddlery,  when 
the  General  woke  up,  and  I  had  to  be  formally  pre- 
sented. 

The  General  was  delighted.  "  The  senor  was  on 
an  American  paper  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  would  report  the  engagement  fully." 

*'  Ah  I  excellent !" 

After  a  moment  of  silence  and  deep  thought  he 
went  on :  *'  I  have  no  portrait  of  myself  here,  but " — 
and  he  brightened  visibly — "perhaps  the  senor  has 
a  camera  ?" 

Amidst  universal  rejoicings  the  senor  admitted 
that  he  had,  and  departed  to  fetch  it  from  his  saddle- 
bag.   On  his  return,  he  fouiid  the  staff  posed  for- 


174  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

mally  and  rigidly  in  full  sunlight  on  the  veranda. 
The  group  was  duly  taken.  Faithlessly  the  corre- 
spondent promised  them  all  copies  and  noted  down 
their  addresses. 

The  sun  was  now  high,  and  the  heat  of  the  day 
was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt,  when  an  orderly 
arrived  with  despatches. 

They  contained  astonishing  news !  General 
Navarrez  had  '*  suffered  a  reverse,"  and  there  would 
be  no  flanking  movement :  in  fact,  General  Aamargo 
was  to  retire,  at  once  on  the  pueblo  of  Santa  Lucrecia, 
or  his  complete  force  might  be  cut  off. 

An  excited  discussion  was  at  once  held,  and 
orderlies  were  despatched  to  bring  in  all  absent 
officers.  In  the  plaza  sounded  strident  bugle-calls, 
and  the  different  companies  formed  up,  while 
harassed  sergeants  and  subalterns  hunted  the 
missing  men  out  of  the  drinking-shops. 

Slowly  and  noisily  the  parade  formed  up,  men 
finding  their  places  and  then  falling  out  again  to 
buy  oranges  or  cigarettes  from  the  market  women. 
Hastily  the  camp-followers  gathered  their  bundles 
and  their  children,  and  above  all  the  hubbub  rose 
the  strident  voices  of  the  native  women.  All  the 
inhabitants  turned  out  to  watch,  and  at  last  the 
column,  with  its  little  units  of  cavalry  and  mounted 
police,  was  ready  to  leave. 

The  staff  was  already  mounted,  and  the  General 


A  DAY'S  WORK  175 

in  person  had  appeared  on  parade ;  no  one  paid  any 
attention  to  him,  and  at  last  the  advance  guard  of 
dusty  cavalry  moved  off,  followed  by  a  section  of 
mules  carrying  a  venomous-looking  but  obsolete 
Nordenfeldt  machine  gun,  whose  twinkling  gun- 
metal  reflected  the  flashing  rays  of  the  sun. 

Slowly  the  procession  left  the  town,  and  com- 
menced to  climb  the  dusty  mountain  trail  that 
formed  the  road 

About  half-way  down  the  column,  I  rode  alongside 
a  straggling  casual  company  of  infantry,  and  talked 
with  a  sergeant. 

The  latter  was  a  cheery  soul.  He  related  how  he 
had  been  forced  to  take  up  a  military  career  as  an 
alternative  to  going  to  gaol  over  the  matter  of  some 
slight  bickering,  which  left  two  of  his  neighbours 
stone  dead  in  a  drinking-bar.  We  criticized  the 
General,  his  staff,  his  own  officers,  old  Don  Porfirio 
(the  President),  and  lastly,  on  learning  that  the 
correspondent  was  English,  not  American,  the 
sergeant  became  communicative.  He  disliked  the 
Americans.  His  views  were  peculiar,  but  are  not 
unusual  in  the  Republic  of  Mexico,  where  education 
is  rare.  He  held  that  Mexico  was  the  biggest  and 
most  important  State  in  the  world ;  and  that  next  to 
Mexicans  came  the  Chinese  and  Japanese,  with 
whose  help  the  Mexican  nation  (assisted  by  the 
sergeant)  would  capture  Spain  and  kill    Alfonso 


1/6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

Trece,  and  would  also  seize  Paris,  a  town  where  he 
had  heard  there  were  many  beautiful  women.  It 
would  be  quite  easy,  for,  after  all,  these  places  were 
only  two  or  three  days'  march  across  the  Rio 
Grande. 

In  a  sun-parched  valley  of  the  foot-hills,  some  few 
miles  from  the  mountain  pass,  the  column  halted, 
checked  by  those  in  front,  who  were  already  lying 
down  by  the  roadside.  Immediately  the  men  fell 
out  and  proceeded  to  rest.  The  subaltern  and 
myself,  more  curious  than  the  men,  rode  forward  to 
inquire  from  the  company  in  front  why  we  were 
halted.  "The  road  in  front  is  blocked,"  said  the 
officer;  "  I  expect  it  is  the  mules." 

As  he  spoke  we  heard  murmurs  up  the  road,  and 
a  mounted  orderly  appeared,  cantering  through  the 
troops,  and  running  the  gauntlet  of  a  continual  fire 
of  jests  and  shouted  questions.  When  he  saw  the 
officers,  he  reined  up  and  hastily  inquired  if  they 
were  the  general  staff.  Before  replying,  the  senior 
officer,  a  colonel  of  infantry,  read  the  despatch,  then 
replacing  it  in  its  envelope  bade  the  orderly  proceed 
with  it  to  the  General  with  all  haste. 

*'The  pass  is  held  by  the  rebels,"  said  the 
colonel. 

Gravely  the  officers  discussed  the  situation. 
Here  was  a  column  of  some  fifteen  hundred  infantry, 
an  odd  handful  of  cavalry,  and  three  mountain  guns 


A  DAY'S  WORK  177 

straggling  all  along  some  fifteen  miles  of  mountain 
trail,  between  the  township  of  Tamalpa  and  a 
mountain  pass  held  by  the  rebels,  and  the  town 
they  had  just  left  was  threatened  by  a  big  column 
of  mounted  rebels,  numbering,  so  said  the  spies* 
reports,  between  two  and  three  thousand  men. 

It  was  a  cavalryman  who  first  voiced  the  question : 
"  There  are  no  streams  ?"  "  No,"  said  the  colonel 
solemnly,  looking  at  an  infantryman  with  a  bandaged 
arm  ;  *' nothing  but  dust — and  blood." 

News  of  the  presence  of  the  enemy  now  reached 
the  men ;  it  flew  like  wild-fire  down  the  road,  from 
company  to  company,  and  the  strength  of  the  enemy 
gained  as  the  news  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
"  I  wish  they  would  hurry  up,"  said  the  subaltern, 
and  fidgeted  with  his  sword  knot. 

Down  the  trail  rose  the  sound  of  hoofs,  and  a 
mounted  officer  appeared  urging  his  foam-covered 
horse.  *'  The  guns  are  coming  up,"  he  shouted,  and 
rode  on  to  the  front. 

Up  the  road  came  the  guns,  their  drivers  fit  to 
burst  with  pride,  and  the  artillery  officers  glowing 
with  the  joy  of  their  mission. 

The  men  cheered  the  teams  as  they  passed,  and 
the  bobbing  little  field-pieces  in  their  canvas  jackets 
looked  as  if  they,  too,  were  aware  of  the  need  for 
hurry. 

"  Lucky  beggars !"  said  the  infantry  officers. 

12 


178  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

**So  long!"  said  I;  '*  I  am  going  to  see  the 
fun." 

"Send  us  news,"  they  shouted,  and  enviously 
watched  me  disappear  into  the  dust  cloud. 

Somewhere  ahead  the  fitful  rattle  of  musketry- 
fire  could  be  heard.  It  seemed  brief  and  disorgan- 
ized, occasionally  swelling  from  a  persistent  inter- 
mittent rattle  to  a  steady  noise  like  hail  upon  a 
greenhouse  roof.  At  one  point  a  temporary  field 
hospital  had  been  established,  and  there  lay  a  few 
men  on  litters,  and  my  eye  was  caught  by  a 
miniature  boiler  that  emitted  steam  furiously,  and 
I  suddenly  remembered  being  shown  over  a  big 
London  hospital,  and  having  seen  these  same 
boilers  before.  How  out  of  place  they  seemed  here ; 
the  very  appearance  of  them  demanded  the  presence 
of  trimly  dressed  hospital  nurses. 

Below  the  crest  of  the  rise  was  the  firing-line, 
spread  out  on  each  side  of  the  road  in  fan-shaped 
lines  of  skirmishers,  and  the  cauldron  of  the  hills 
echoed  and  re-echoed  to  the  sharp  double  report  of 
the  Mausers.  One  gun  team  had  come  to  grief- 
three  horses  down  and  two  men  killed.  The  enemy 
had  bagged  them  as  they  came  over  the  rise.  The 
survivors  were  cutting  them  clear,  and  soon  were 
under  cover,  placing  the  gun  next  to  its  brothers.  ; 
Somewhere  on  the  left  flank  a  harsh  rattle  an- 
nounced that  the  Nordenfeldt  was  again  in  going 


^M 


A  DAY'S  WORK  179 

order,  and  it  continued  to  crash  at  intervals,  until 
another  jamb  disabled  it. 

The  guns  joined  the  chorus,  and  puffs  of  yellowish 
smoke  began  to  appear  over  the  opposite  hill-side. 
There  was  nothing  much  to  see,  only  an  occasional 
puff  of  white  smoke,  showing  that  some  rebel  was 
using  an  old  black-powder  rifle,  being  the  only 
sign,  the  scrub  and  boulders  completely  hiding  the 
enemy. 

The  day  dragged  on  until  the  skirmishers  were 
within  200  yards  or  less  of  the  enemy's  lines,  and 
an  attempt  was  made  to  rush  their  position  by  a 
handful  of  Federal  troops  led  by  two  mounted 
officers.  The  attack  failed,  and  the  remnant  of  the 
little  drab-coloured  force  beat  a  hasty  retreat ;  one  of 
the  horses,  now  riderless,  threw  up  its  head  and  tore 
madly  along  the  firing-line  in  its  death-gallop. 

The  reserves  were  brought  up  and  concentrated 
behind  the  ridge,  and  slowly  the  engagement  went 
on.  Both  sides  were  husbanding  their  ammunition, 
and  the  battery  was  almost  silent,  only  sending  an 
occasional  shell  now  and  then. 

Cartridges  and  water  were  both  scarce,  and 
wounded  men  filtered  back  from  the  firing-line  to  be 
attended  to,  their  places  being  taken  by  fresh  men 
from  the  reserves. 

Riding  back  over  the  rise,  I  was  met  by  an  excited 
field  officer.    '*  Go  over  to  the  right  flank,"  he  said . 


i8o  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

*'our  cavalry  are  massing  for  the  turning  move- 
ment." 

In  a  little  valley  the  cavalry  stood  by  their  horses 
and  joked  and  chatted  over  the  battle.  I  joined  the 
general  staff,  and  was  rewarded  by  being  told  the 
news :  *' A  scout  has  come  in  from  General  Navarrez, 
who  is  making  a  forced  march  to  attack  the  rebels 
and  clear  the  pass  for  us — we  expect  him  before 
nightfall ;  meantime  we  are  going  to  attack  this 
flank  as  soon  as  a  feint  attack  is  delivered  on  the 
left." 

The  time  dragged  on,  and  the  shadows  of  the  hills 
began  to  creep  across  the  valley  before  the  sound  of 
heavy  firing  announced  the  commencement  of  the 
feint.  The  guns  added  their  covering  fire  to  the 
general  din,  and  at  last  the  cavalry  moved  forward 
to  the  attack. 

Tying  up  my  horse,  I  climbed  with  one  or  two 
officers  of  the  infantry  to  a  crag  whence  a  view  of 
the  movement  could  be  obtained.  The  cavalry,  in 
close  formation,  rode  on  unchecked,  their  scouts  not 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  ahead  of  the  main  body. 
A  scattered  shot  or  two  was  the  only  response  from 
the  enemy's  pickets,  who  could  be  seen  retreating 
towards  the  centre  of  their  position.  The  cavalry 
line  began  to  wheel  to  the  left,  when  the  scouts  on 
the  advanced  flank  suddenly  fired  and  turned  to  ride 
back  to  the  troops.     With  the  speed  of  thought,  a 


A  DAY'S  WORK  i8i 

line  of  riflemen  appeared  as  if  out  of  the  ground,  and 
opened  fire  at  close  range  on  the  grouped  cavalry. 
The  enemy  had  been  concealed  in  a  dry  river- 
bed, and  had  held  their  fire.  The  Federals  were 
trapped. 

Individual  sections  charged,  but  were  shot  to 
pieces;  those  that  reached  the  firing-line  being 
stopped  by  the  ravine,  on  the  farther  side  of  which 
were  the  rebel  infantry.  The  others  seeing  what 
had  happened,  and  with  their  ranks  already  in  dis- 
order, beat  a  hasty  retreat,  and,  covered  by  a  dust 
cloud,  the  disorganized  rout  swept  over  the  ridge 
and  spread  panic  through  the  reserves  before  they 
could  be  re-formed.  The  attack  had  cost  them  a 
third  of  their  men,  and  had  failed  to  turn  the 
position. 

Infantry  were  speedily  rushed  forward  to  prevent 
the  advance  of  the  enemy,  but  it  was  soon  apparent 
that  they  were  abandoning  their  line  of  defence ;  it 
was,  however,  too  strongly  covered  to  attack  while 
the  retreat  was  in  progress. 

The  noise  of  battle  died  down,  and  an  hour  later 
the  Federal  outposts  were  in  touch  with  Navarrez's 
cavalry  ;  the  enemy  had  retreated  to  the  hills,  and  at 
last  the  pass  was  clear.  ' 

That  night  the  column  reached  Santa  Lucrecia, 
and  the  correspondent  made  his  way  to  the  head- 
quarters of  the  G.O.C. 


i82  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

"A  splendid  action,"  said  the  General;  **an 
heroic  triumph  of  the  Federal  arms;  over  twice 
our  strength  of  rebels  defeated — yes,  in  every  way 
a  victory." 

There  must  have  been  at  least  a  thousand  rebels 
present,  mused  the  correspondent,  as  he  went  to  the 
telegraph  office.  "  H*m— well,  I  suppose  it  is  a 
victory  !" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BIVOUAC 

The  squadron  halted  for  the  night.  We  were  far 
out  among  the  hills,  and  hoped  to  get  in  touch 
with  the  enemy  at  any  minute ;  men  and  horses 
were  covered  with  fine  white  dust  of  the  trail,  and 
all  were  tired.  We  had  a  hard  day's  ride  and  were 
feeling  saddle-cramped,  so  when  we  reached  the 
bivouac  ground  it  was  a  relief  that  we  had  no 
tiresome  ceremonial  of  tent-erecting  and  camp  duty 
to  commence.  The  men  dismounted  and  sat  by 
their  horses  smoking  cigarettes  till  their  mounts 
were  cooler,  and  they  could  take  the  saddles  off. 

Over  the  ragged  peaks  of  the  sierras  half  the 
red  disk  of  the  setting  sun  was  visible,  and  from 
the  rocky  sky-line  spread  the  blood-red  streamers  of 
a  Mexican  sunset.  The  heat  of  the  day  still 
radiated  from  the  ground,  but  the  evening  air  was 
cool  and  refreshing.  The  sinking  sun  threw  the 
long  blue  shades  of  the  mountain  across  the  valley, 
and  exaggerated  the  grotesque  shadows  of  the 
resting  horses.  The  figure  of  a  mounted  outpost 
stood  out  on  the  crest  of  a  foot-hill  black  against 

183 


i84  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

the  crimson  sky.  We  had  no  tents,  no  commis- 
sariat, and  little  drinking  water.  The  horses  were 
luckier,  for  they  were  being  watered  from  a  muddy 
pond  that  lay  below  us  on  the  hill-side,  further 
down  which  lay  a  whitewashed  hacienda  and  its 
little  village  of  dove-coloured  huts  nestling  against 
its  walls.  The  officers'  mess  was  short  of  food,  so 
I  contributed  a  tin  of  devilled  ham  and  a  bottle 
of  Sunnybrook  whisky,  and  joined  two  private 
soldiers  who  were  going  on  a  foraging  expedition. 
We  set  off  on  foot  towards  the  village,  whence  the 
noise  of  poultry  and  the  bleating  of  goats  gave 
rich  promise  of  satisfying  food.  The  first  robber, 
who  answered  to  the  honoured  name  of  Benito 
Juarez,  produced  a  fathom  or  two  of  thin  line  and 
fashioned  it  into  a  lasso.  When  we  reached  the 
outskirts  of  the  village  a  flock  of  turkeys  guarded 
by  a  small  boy  appeared.  The  second  robber  and 
the  hungry  journalist  engaged  the  boy  in  conver- 
sation, standing  between  him  and  the  turkeys.  A 
muffled  squawk  and  a  fluttering  reached  us,  and 
we  knew  that  Benito  had  secured  his  bird.  Con- 
science-stricken, I  gave  the  boy  a  packet  of  cigar- 
ettes, and  we  proceeded. 

The  village  store  and  a  few  stalls  soon  yielded 
ample  supplies  of  tinned  foods,  fruit,  etc.  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  pay  for  mine,  but  my  companions 
disbursed  no  money  over  their  transactions.     Leav- 


BIVOUAC  185 

ing  the  inhabitants  to  their  lamentations,  we 
returned  heavily  laden  to  the  camp,  Benito 
dragging  the  corpse  of  the  turkey  out  of  its 
hiding-place  on  the  way  back. 

It  was  a  lovely  supper,  and  afterwards  we  sat 
round  the  camp-fire — not  a  big  fire  such  as  the 
white  man  builds,  but  a  little  glowing  charcoal  fire 
of  Indian  construction.  Possibly  it  was  not  so 
picturesque,  but,  anyway,  it  was  warm.  The 
sentries  whistled  at  intervals,  and  the  men  sat  in 
little  groups,  while  the  ungroomed  horses  chafed 
at  their  pickets. 

In  the  dark  the  men's  cigarette  ends  glowed 
incessantly,  and  finally  each  man  wrapped  his  head 
in  his  overcoat  and  turned  in  on  the  ground. 
There  was  a  false  alarm  during  the  night,  and 
the  continual  interruptions  of  changing  guard  and 
chasing  off  strange  dogs  disturbed  our  slumber. 
Somewhere  in  the  dark  two  coyotes  sung  their 
hideous  love-songs,  and  the  camp  dogs  howled 
challenges. 

By  daybreak  we  were  mounted  and  off,  my 
servant,  Luis,  blue  with  cold  and  disliking  moving 
without  breakfast,  grumbling  as  he  packed  my 
saddle-bags.  Luis  was  a  luxury,  but  I  wanted 
him  to  carry  in  news  if  I  should  stay  with  the 
squadron.  Far  ahead  of  us  rode  the  scouts ; 
finally  one  came  up  to  the  captain  with  a  badly 


i86  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

scared  peon  in  convoy.  The  squadron  halted,  and 
a  whisper  ran  down  the  ragged  ranks  that  some 
rebels  were  at  a  little  village  of  Santa  Lucrecia, 
about  half  an  hour's  ride  distant.  A  grey-clad 
Rurale  detached  himself  from  his  unit  and  informed 
the  captain  that  he  knew  the  country. 

We  moved  off  again,  and  the  young  lieutenant 
gave  me  the  "general  idea"  of  the  attack.  We 
were  to  outflank  the  village,  while  our  machine-gun 
covered  the  only  road  down  which  the  enemy 
could  retreat.  It  would  be  a  "cinch."  He  used 
the  American  slang  word  and  laughed  joyously. 
Under  cover  of  a  hill  we  halted  and  divided  our 
forces.  I  elected  to  go  with  the  lieutenant  and 
his  flanking  party,  as  I  thought  we  should  be  first 
in  the  village,  and  there  were  hopes  of  loot.  Led 
by  the  Rurale,  we  turned  aside  from  the  trail,  and, 
with  the  horses  picking  their  way  cautiously  along 
the  stony  hill-side,  went  to  take  up  our  position. 
The  main  body  were  to  fire  first,  but  we  hoped 
for  a  complete  surprise. 

The  hacienda  was  a  small  one,  and  the  village 
only  consisted  of  a  few  dozen  adobe  huts  set 
round  a  small  square  of  open  ground.  They 
nestled  against  the  yellow  parched  valley,  and  a 
few  dust-laden  trees  surrounded  the  houses.  Near 
a  well  was  a  group  of  horses  guarded  by  two 
men  in  scarlet  blankets.     The  clear  air  and  the 


BIVOUAC  187 

bright  glare  of  the  morning  sun  made  the  group 
stand  out  like  objects  in  a  panorama,  while  the 
crowing  of  cocks  in  the  village  sounded  so  dis- 
tinctly that  one  listened  instinctively  for  human 
voices.  Our  route  was  longer  than  we  anticipated, 
and  before  we  had  reached  our  station  a  few 
dropping  shots  announced  that  the  enemy  were 
on  the  alert  and  had  discovered  the  main  body. 
We  came  out  into  a  field  of  magueys,  and  saw  the 
village  about  half  a  mile  away.  High  up  on  the 
hill-side,  where  the  trail  debouched,  the  main  body 
were  deploying  like  ants  among  the  scrub  and 
boulders ;  the  little  groups  of  horses,  held  by  a 
mounted  man,  were  plainly  discernible,  and  soon 
seemed  absorbed  by  the  hill-side,  as  they  took 
advantage  of  the  cover.  The  rebels  were  hurriedly 
taking  up  positions  of  defence  and  replying  to  the 
fire  from  the  hills  with  hasty  shots. 

The  peppering  continued,  and  we  remained 
unnoticed.  Half  our  little  force  was  dismounted, 
and  the  other  half  held  in  reserve  for  cavalry  pursuit. 
Not  having  a  rifle  I  remained  mounted,  and  watched 
our  men  creep  from  cover  to  cover.  They  had  been 
ordered  not  to  fire,  and  had  covered  half  the 
distance  before  they  were  noticed  by  the  rebels, 
who  immediately  opened  fire. 

Our  side  of  the  village  began  to  shoot  out  little 
cotton-woolly  puflfs  of  smoke,  and  an  occasional 


i88  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

bullet  would  whine  overhead,  or  plop  through  the 
maguey  leaves  with  the  rip  of  tearing  calico.  The 
firing  on  the  hill-side  was  getting  louder  and  more 
frequent,  and  the  village  bell  started  an  excited 
clanging.  We  moved  up  and  met  two  men  carry- 
ing a  wounded  cavalryman.  He  had  been  shot 
through  the  body,  and  only  lived  a  few  minutes 
more. 

The  lieutenant  gazed  at  the  hill-side. 

"  We  are  to  rush  the  village  when  they  fire  the 
Maxim,"  he  said.  We  brought  up  our  mounted 
reserve — men  and  horses  chafing  under  the  restraint. 
All  our  attention  was  centred  on  the  attack.  Surely 
the  captain  would  give  the  signal  soon !  Only  two 
hundred  yards  of  flat  country  before  we  reached  the 
village  ;  down  wind  came  the  smell  of  dust  and  the 
sour  smell  of  smokeless  powder,  and  we  could  see 
the  enemy  among  the  buildings.  The  church  bell 
still  clanged  furiously,  and  the  screams  of  the  women 
reached  us.  There  was  a  lull  in  the  firing,  and  the 
noise  of  cocks  crowing  in  the  village  came  to  our 
ears  like  the  sudden  shock  of  a  chime  striking  in  a 
crowded  city. 

Then  far  up  the  hill-side  came  the  stabbing 
staccato  bark  of  the  Maxim. 

We    went    in    with    a   rush,    and    our   line    oi 
skirmishers  rose  under  our  hoofs  to  race  back  to] 
the  held  horses  in  order  to  join  us.     I  saw  the; 


BIVOUAC  189 

skirmishing  line  of  the  main  body  break  cover  and 
rush  for  the  houses  ;  and  then,  in  clouds  of  dust  and 
with  the  stones  cast  up  by  the  horses  in  front 
stinging  our  faces,  we  charged  on. 

Our  horses  jumped  the  rough  hedges  of  the  little 
gardens  outside  the  village,  and,  midst  a  confused 
noise  of  cracking  canes,  shots,  shouts,  and  curses, 
we  raced  into  the  little  square.  The  man  riding 
next  to  me  swerved  straight  across  my  front,  and 
both  of  us  came  down  together.  I  was  thrown  clear 
over  his  horse  and  crawled  to  the  shelter  of  a  house 
wall,  unhurt  but  badly  shaken.  I  could  not  see  the 
other  man,  but  I  hoped  that  he  was  damaged — I  was 
so  wild  at  his  clumsiness.  The  square  was  thick 
with  dust,  and  whirling  figures  could  be  seen ;  the 
shooting  had  ceased,  and  after  a  confused  moment 
or  so,  a  trumpet  sounded  the  recall  furiously. 

The  rebels  went  out  at  one  end  of  the  village  as 
we  came  in  at  the  other,  and  most  of  the  mounted 
men  followed  them.  Upon  the  hill-side  the  angry 
Maxim  chattered  as  they  fired  belt  after  belt  at  the 
flying  rebels. 

I  bumped  into  the  lieutenant,  who  was  the  centre 
of  a  group  of  screaming  villagers.  Slowly  the  con- 
fusion died  down,  the  remainder  of  the  main  body 
drew  up,  and  the  men  slowly  came  back  to  re-form. 
There  was  little  looting,  a  few  prisoners  were  taken, 
and    an    occasional    shot    or    two    announced    an 


190  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

"  execution."  The  headmen  of  the  village  were 
summoned  and  tied  up.  I  wrote  a  hasty  account  of 
the  skirmish;  found  my  servant  Luis  (who  had 
stolen  four  hens,  which  I  confiscated)  and  sent  him 
off  to  my  agent  in  Mexico  City.     He  was  glad  to  go. 

An  hour  later  we  had  re-formed,  leaving  the 
prisoners  to  go  back  under  escort  to  the  city,  and 
were  on  the  march  again. 

There  would  be  a  feast  that  night !  Every  saddle 
was  hung  with  bundles  of  edible  loot,  and  live 
chickens  hung  head  downwards  from  the  carbine 
buckets.  It  had  been  a  great  and  decisive  victory. 
Back  in  the  village  the  women  sobbed  in  the  houses, 
while  dead  children  lay  out  amongst  the  down- 
trodden corn. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  "SCRAP"   BEFORE   BREAKFAST 

At  half-past  six  one  morning  my  horse  was  brought 
round  by  the  groom,  and  I  came  sleepily  down  the 
steps  of  my  lodging  to  take  an  early  ride.  As  I  put 
my  foot  in  the  stirrup  Gonzalez  clattered  round  the 
corner  and  pulled  up  short. 

"  Hullo !  Where  are  you  off  to  at  this  time  of  the 
morning  ?"  said  he. 

I  told  him  I  was  just  off  for  a  ride,  with  no  par- 
ticular object  in  view. 

*'  Well,  come  along  with  me.  I  am  going  out  with 
a  troop  to  the  hills  round  El  Desierto.  The  rebels 
have  been  reported  there,  but  I  expect  it  is  only  a 
few  bandits  robbing  outlying  ranches ;  anyway, 
come  along  for  the  trip ;  it's  a  lovely  ride." 

I  jumped  at  the  opportunity,  and  accepted  his 
invitation.  "  Wait  half  a  minute  while  I  get  my 
camera,"  I  said,  and  I  bolted  into  the  house  and 
hastily  buckled  on  my  war-paint,  camera,  revolver, 
water-bottle,  and  field-glasses,  put  some  chocolate 
and  a  tin  of  tobacco  in  my  pockets,  and  rejoined  him. 

191 


192  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

We  rode  along  together  to  the  citadel,  where  he 
was  going  to  pick  up  his  troop. 

Gonzalez  was  a  nice  boy,  a  lieutenant  in  the 
Presidential  Guard.  He  was  very  pleased  with 
his  first  command  on  "active  service,"  and  as 
he  rode  through  the  gates  of  the  citadel  into  the 
barrack  square,  the  sunlight  glittered  on  the  silver 
lace  and  buttons  of  his  uniform,  making  a  vivid 
contrast  with  the  ragged  little  troop  of  regular 
cavalry  that  formed  his  command. 

The  troop  numbered  thirty  men  and  a  sergeant ; 
there  was  also  a  corporal,  but  he  was  of  no  im- 
portance. 

The  men  were  dressed  in  dirty  grey  uniforms,  and 
wore  the  cheese-cutter  caps  of  the  American  Civil 
War  period.  They  were  all  born  horsemen,  and  sat 
their  rough  little  horses  with  the  unmistakable  air 
of  men  who  had  practically  lived  in  the  saddle. 
Their  arms  consisted  of  a  Mauser  carbine  and  a  plain 
cavalry  sabre,  both  of  which  were  shockingly  ill- 
kept;  in  fact,  all  the  accoutrements  were  old  and  dirty. 

Discipline  in  the  Mexican  Army  is  an  airy  phan- 
tasy ;  smartness  unheard  of.  I  have  frequently  seen 
troops  on  ceremonial  duty  smoking  cigarettes  or 
leaving  the  ranks  to  purchase  oranges  while  their 
comrades  presented  arms. 

Gonzalez  flushed  a  little  when  he  examined  his 
command.     He  had  been  used  to  the  Presidential 


*     «  «     •  «  •      • 


A  ''SCRAP"  BEFORE  BREAKFAST     193 

Guard,  who  did  look  clean  on  parade,  although  they 
were  absolutely  useless  as  a  fighting  force. 

The  sergeant  explained  that  they  had  no  ammuni- 
tion— or  rather,  only  about  six  cartridges  among  the 
bunch.  Inquiries  elicited  the  fact  that  it  had  been 
"  lost,"  or,  in  other  words,  the  men  had  sold  it  at  two 
cents  a  cartridge  in  order  to  buy  cigarettes. 

While  fresh  ammunition  was  being  served  out  and 
counted,  Gonzalez  explained  to  me  that  it  did  not 
matter,  as  we  were  only  going  to  make  a  recon- 
naissance. We  sat  on  our  horses  and  talked,  while 
the  lieutenant's  orderly,  whose  duties  combined 
those  of  servant  and  bugler — and  who  was  also  drawn 
from  the  Presidential  Guard — confided  to  me  his 
views  concerning  the  regular  cavalry  and  army  in 
general.  He  was  very  bitter,  as  he  would  have  to 
clean  the  lieutenant's  uniform  after  the  trip.  As 
we  waited  an  elderly  staff  officer  approached  and 
questioned  my  presence.  Gonzalez  explained  that  I 
was  an  English  journalist,  but  rather  better  known 
as  a  gentleman  rider  of  race-horses.  The  staff 
officer  still  insisted  that  I  was  an  undesirable  ahen. 
However,  I  gave  him  a  cigar,  the  address  of  the 
English  tailor  who  had  cut  my  riding-breeches,  and 
my  promise  not  to  cable  undesirable  news  should 
we  see  any  fighting. 

After  about  half  an  hour's  delay  we  set  off,  Gon- 
zalez and  myself  riding  ahead,  the  orderly,  smoking 

>3 


194  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

a  big  cigar,  following  us,  and  the  sergeant  bringing 
up  the  rear  of  the  troop  in  order  to  see  that  no  one 
got  lost.  Noisily  and  impressively  we  clattered 
through  the  streets  of  the  City  of  Mexico,  meeting 
other  troops  here  and  there. 

We  passed  a  perfunctory  kind  of  salute  and 
exchanged  a  few  inquiries  as  to  news  of  the  rebels ; 
then  with  a  cross-fire  of  coarse  jests  the  troops 
would  move  on  again,  the  soldiers  cheerfully  insult- 
ing every  respectable  woman  we  passed. 

I  entertained  the  sergeant,  the  orderly,  and  lieu- 
tenant Gonzalez  with  an  account  of  fox-hunting  as 
practised  in  England,  while  they  in  return  told  me 
long  tales  of  military  love  affairs.  Slowly  we  left 
the  outskirts  of  the  city  and  began  to  climb  the  foot- 
hills of  the  mountains.  Trees  now  began  to  get 
more  scarce,  and  the  wide  fields  of  magueys  were 
replaced  by  desolate  stretches  of  withered  grass 
bearing  a  heavy  crop  of  stones  and  boulders.  Soon 
the  made  road,  with  rough  hedges  on  either  side, 
ran  out  into  a  winding  track  where  the  white  dust 
lay  inches  deep  and  rose  in  clouds  beneath  our 
horses'  feet. 

Occasionally  we  would  meet  little  caravans  of 
Indians  driving  in  their  donkeys  laden  with  bundles 
of  country  produce,  or  crates  of  native  pottery. 
They  gave  the  soldiery  a  wide  berth,  and  if  ques- 
tioned, were  invariably  sullen  and  scared,  return- 


A  "SCRAP"  BEFORE  BREAKFAST     195 

ing  the  invariable  answer,  "Quien  sabe?"  (Who 
knows  ?)  to  all  inquiries. 

Rounding  a  bend  in  the  trail,  we  came  across  two 
corpses  laid  across  the  road.  A  sharp  command 
from  the  lieutenant  halted  the  troop,  and  we  urged 
our  frightened  horses  nearer  the  bodies.  From 
what  was  left  we  could  see  that  they  had  been 
Rurales,  two  of  the  crack  mounted  police  corps,  but 
they  had  been  stripped  of  everything  of  value,  muti- 
lated in  the  true  Indian  manner,  and  the  desecrated 
corpses  laid  across  the  trail  for  all  to  view. 

They  lay  there  in  the  sunlight,  their  faces  and  skin 
olive-grey  in  colour,  a  heavy  blue  growth  of  beard 
on  jowl  and  cheek.  Their  feet  and  hands  had  been 
severed,  the  feet  lay  by  the  stumps  of  the  arms, 
while  the  legs  terminated  in  a  grotesque  hand  turned 
palm  upwards  to  the  sky.  The  bodies  had  been 
ripped  up,  and  the  ghastly  heads  were  earless. 
We  could  not  find  the  ears^  they  had  probably  been 
kept  as  mementoes  by  the  rebels.  On  a  stunted 
pepper-tree  by  the  side  of  the  trail  sat  two  black 
vultures,  and  above  us  in  the  brazen  sky  more  black 
dots  hovered  and  swung  in  hungry  circles. 

The  sergeant  and  three  of  the  men  carried  the 
bodies  a  few  paces  and  tipped  them  into  a  dry 
stream-bed.  It  was  evidently  here  that  the  ambush 
had  taken  place,  for  among  the  stones  and  debris 
shone  the  bright  metal  of  an  empty  cartridge-case. 


196  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

A  few  big  stones  and  a  caving  in  of  the  banks 
completed  a  hasty  burial. 

The  sergeant  wiped  his  hands  on  a  tuft  of  grass, 
lit  another  cigarette,  and  the  troop  cantered  on. 

Lieutenant  Gonzalez  was  impressed  by  the 
advertisement  the  rebels  had  left,  and  was  visibly 
paler.  The  men  took  it  rather  as  a  joke,  and  dis- 
cussed its  anatomical  features  among  themselves. 
I  felt  that  the  sunlight  was  indecent,  and  that  the 
whole  dusty  landscape  was  one  outrageous  jest  at 
the  expense  of  our  little  column. 

We  halted  and  held  a  council  of  war  in  which  the 
sergeant  and  the  orderly  led  a  chorus  of  assent 
from  the  troop.  It  was  decided  to  send  out  two 
men  ahead  as  scouts  or  advance  guard.  The 
sergeant  sent  off  the  sullen  corporal,  and  our  lead- 
ing trooper  humorist,  who  was  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  party  and  stank  hke  a  distillery. 

I  urged  that  flanking  parties  and  a  rearguard 
should  also  be  sent  out ;  but  my  seed  fell  on  stony 
ground,  because  the  men  did  not  like  being  sepa- 
rated. However,  my  repeated  suggestion  that  the 
carbines  should  be  loaded  was  acted  on,  and  the 
casual  commando  resumed  its  march. 

The  dusty  trail  was  covered  with  tracks,  and  at 
one  point  I  drew  Gonzalez's  attention  to  a  point 
where  a  number  of  horsemen  had  crossed  the  trail. 

I  am  afraid  he  thought  me  very  officious,  and  dis- 


A  "SCRAP"  BEFORE  BREAKFAST    197 

regarded  my  suggestion  that  these  trails  were  not 
more  than  an  hour  or  two  old,  but  in  a  few  moments 
he  recovered  his  temper,  and  telling  the  orderly  to 
drop  back,  he  mentioned  in  strict  confidence  that  he 
did  not  quite  know  what  to  do  if  they  should  come 
across  some  rebels.  Could  I,  who  had  seen  this 
kind  of  thing  in  Morocco,  tell  him  ? 

I  said  that  I  would  give  advice  if  necessary.  But 
as  I  knew  that  everybody  would  be  giving  advice^ 
I  prayed  fervently  that  we  should  meet  no  trouble. 

This  I  did  not  tell  the  lieutenant. 

The  trail  was  getting  steeper.  Mountains  that 
before  had  seemed  masses  of  blue  haze  were 
becoming  clear,  and  the  green  colour  of  the  pine 
forests  was  discernible;  here  and  there  wisps  of 
white  cloud  hung  round  the  peaks,  and  low  sheets 
of  mist  floated  below  us  in  the  valley.  Far  below 
we  could  see  the  spires  and  chimneys  of  the  City  of 
Mexico,  and  beyond  it  the  blue  glint  of  the  lakes 
and  the  Viga  Canal. 

Ahead  of  us,  about  two  hundred  yards,  the  figures 
of  the  scouts  showed  on  the  crest  of  the  hill. 
Gradually  the  distance  between  us  lessened,  and  in 
a  short  time  the  scouts  were  not  more  than  thirty 
yards  ahead.    They  were  getting  lonesome. 

Gonzalez  noticed  it,  asking  the  sergeant  to  spur 
forward  and  advise  the  men  to  get  on  ahead. 
Amiably  the  sergeant  went  forward  and  proceeded  to 


198  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

borrow  a  cigarette  from  them  while  he  communicated 
the  order. 

We  had  now  reached  the  bottom  of  a  little  valley 
between  the  hills,  and  the  trail  crossed  one  or  two 
dried-up  watercourses,  usually  called  **  barrancas." 
In  front  of  us  stretched  the  wooded  hill-side,  though 
we  were  still  in  open  country,  and  the  only  bush 
was  along  the  banks  of  the  "  barrancas." 

Somewhere  in  the  fringe  of  wood  a  rifle  cracked, 
and  as  the  echoes  still  rattled  among  the  hills,  our 
valiant  scouts  came  tearing  in.  They  returned  to 
the  troop  with  their  horses  at  full  gallop  and  raising 
clouds  of  dust.  All  the  other  horses  pranced  and 
curveted,  while  the  men  cursed  them  and  jagged 
the  savage  Mexican  bits  in  their  mouths.  An  aim- 
less chorus  of  instruction  and  curses  rose,  above 
which  the  sergeant  could  be  heard  shouting,  "  Son 
los  rebeldes  !  los  rebeldes  !"  (The  rebels  !  the 
rebels !) 

The  rebels,  seeing  that  their  ambush  had  failed 
because  of  that  nervous  accidental  shot,  opened  fire. 

From  the  fringe  of  the  wood  and  along  the  line  of 
a  "  barranca  "  rose  little  woolly  puffs  of  smoke,  and 
the  air  round  us  seemed  full  of  things  that  buzzed 
and  whirred. 

A  horse  screamed  shrilly,  plunged  forward  for  a 
pace,  and  then  sat  down  on  his  quarters  like  a  dog. 
The  rider  jumped  clear  of  the  saddle,  and  stared  at  his 


•.    J    •  « 


A  "SCRAP"  BEFORE  BREAKFAST    199 

mount.  He  jagged  the  bit,  but  the  horse  would  not 
rise.  A  bullet  struck  up  the  dust  by  his  feet,  and 
he  seemed  to  realize  all  of  a  sudden  what  was 
happening.  With  a  shrill  whimper  he  unslung  his 
carbine  and  took  cover  in  the  ditch. 

The  troops  stood  paralyzed,  bunched  together, 
staring  at  the  mountain-side,  their  faces  tense  with 
astonishment.     I  had  dismounted. 

**  Put  the  horses  in  the  '  barranca ' !"  I  shouted  to 
him,  and  tried  to  tell  him  to  make  the  men  take 
cover;  but  my  Spanish  gave  out,  and  all  I  could 
say  was,  *'Abajo"  (lower),  and  patted  at  the 
ground  with  my  hand. 

The  "barranca"  afforded  slight  cover  for  the 
horses,  but  standing  them  close  in  under  the  bank, 
we  only  lost  one  more.  The  men  lay  along  the  edge 
and  fired  casually.  At  the  bottom  of  the  "  barranca  " 
lay  two  dead  men  and  two  seriously  wounded.  Out 
on  the  trail  the  sergeant  lay  face  down  in  the  dust ; 
his  cigarette  still  smouldered,  sending  a  little 
column  of  grey  smoke  up  into  the  stagnant  air. 

An  occasional  bullet  struck  the  edges  of  the 
trench  and  ricochetted  over  us  with  a  high  musical 
note.  At  last  the  enemies'  fire  seemed  to  slacken, 
and  I  crawled  to  where  Gonzalez  was  looking  out 
at  the  hill-side.  His  face  was  pinched  and  drawn, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  years  older.  (This  skirmish  had 
made  him  into  a  soldier,  and  the  men  were  behav- 


200  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

ing  well.)  As  I  crawled  up  he  passed  his  tongue 
over  his  dry,  dust-caked  lips,  and  whispered  that  the 
rebels  seemed  to  be  over  a  hundred  rifles  strong. 
Through  our  field-glasses  we  gazed  at  the  woods. 
I  knew  the  rebels  were  closing  down  under  cover 
of  the  bush  as  their  fire  had  dropped  by  sections, 
as  some  unseen  messenger  reached  them.  The 
shots  that  continued  came  from  the  same  places, 
and  were  evidently  a  covering  fire. 

With  an  empty  cartridge-case  I  sketched  our 
position  in  the  dust,  and  pointed  out  our  open 
defenceless  flank  towards  which  the  enemy  were 
moving. 

Gonzalez  looked  regretful,  but  he  nodded,  and 
together  we  slid  down  the  bank  into  the  "  barranca." 

Quickly  the  horse-holders  led  out  the  horses 
from  cover;  the  wounded  men  were  handed  up, 
and  the  rifles  and  bandoliers  of  the  dead  tied  to 
the  saddles.  The  men  were  alert  and  steady;  all 
trace  of  their  slackness  had  been  sloughed  off.  I 
remembered  the  Rurales  on  the  road  and  shud- 
dered. There  were  no  spare  horses  to  carry 
corpses. 

The  little  party  on  the  bank  kept  up  a  covering 
fire,  and  with  a  rush  the  remains  of  the  troop  left 
cover  and  galloped  up  the  hill. 

The  rebel  fire  broke  out  fiercely,  and  the  crest 
of  the  hill,  behind  which  was  cover  and  the  road 


A  "SCRAP"  BEFORE  BREAKFAST    201 

to  safety,  seemed  miles  away.  Bent  low  over  our 
saddles,  and  casting  glances  back  at  that  deadly 
wood,  we  galloped  and  soon  were  over. 

The  wounded  and  their  escort  streamed  down 
the  dusty  trail,  while  the  orderly  and  I  waited 
below  the  crest  for  the  covering  party  and  the 
lieutenant  to  rejoin  us. 

We  could  see  them  in  the  little  "  barranca  "  getting 
mounted  and  ready  for  a  burst  for  cover.  One  had 
been  hit  and  had  to  be  helped  into  his  saddle.  Up 
the  trail  they  came,  through  the  hail  of  fire,  the 
white  dust  cloud  drifting  behind  them.  Together 
we  all  galloped  down  from  the  crest,  and  soon  were 
safe  under  cover  behind  a  spur  of  mountain.  The 
echoes  died  down  and  the  vultures  came  streaming 
in  from  the  mountains. 

We  reached  the  citadel,  and  rode  in  to  report. 

It  was  past  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  I 
suddenly  realized  that  I  had  not  breakfasted. 

"There  are  no  rebels,"  said  the  Censor  of  Military 
News,  "only  exaggerated  reports  of  bandits  in  the 
mountains !" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

UNDER   FIRE   ON   THE   RAILROAD 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write  the  rebels  had  sur- 
rounded the  State  of  Mexico,  and  all  communications 
to  the  north  were  interrupted.  All  train  service  was 
disconnected,  and  the  capital  was  more  or  less 
isolated.  It  is  true  that  one  cable  line  was  open,  but 
this  was  controlled  by  the  Federal  authorities.  Wild 
rumours  were  current  in  the  city.  Only  one  thing 
seemed  certain,  and  that  was  that  the  cordon  of 
rebels  were  actually  drawn  up  round  the  city  and 
were  only  awaiting  the  arrival  of  reinforcements 
from  the  south. 

Once  reinforced  the  city  was  at  their  mercy,  and 
they  could  force  the  resignation  of  General  Diaz. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  I  had  to  leave. 

My  passage  was  booked,  and  my  heavy  luggage 
was  already  at  the  port  of  Vera  Cruz. 

Going  round  to  a  friend  of  mine  at  the  railway 
terminus,  I  asked  him  how  matters  stood,  and  he 
explained  that  there  were  three  wrecks  on  the  line, 
and  no  train  had  run  for  three  days,  but  they  were 
going  to  try  and  run  one  that  afternoon. 

202 


UNDER  FIRE  ON  THE  RAILROAD    203 

We  went  down  into  the  almost  empty  station  and 
watched  the  soldiers  removing  a  cartful  of  wounded 
and  dead  Federals,  from  a  train  which  had  arrived 
just  previously. 

Barefooted  orderlies  from  the  military  hospital  ran 
around  with  stretchers,  whilst  women  camp-fol- 
lowers cooked  food  or  waged  war  with  the  gaunt 
dogs  that  tried  to  investigate  their  bundles.  All 
around  was  most  insanitary  confusion.  Flies  settled 
on  the  dead  and  on  the  food,  and  people  with 
typhoid  drank  out  of  the  same  bottles  as  the 
wounded.  Two  rival  volunteer  nursing  associations 
—the  "Red  Cross"  and  the  "Blue  Cross"— who 
hated  one  another  with  true  Indian  hatred,  conspired 
vigorously  against  each  other,  while  the  wounded 
still  lay  in  rows  in  the  sun.  Near  by  two  American 
locomotive  engineers  laughed  with  thorough  appre- 
ciation over  an  American  paper  with  headlines 
referring  joyously  to  **  Comic  Opera  Revolution  "  in 
Mexico,  and  brilliantly  irresponsible  comments  on 
the  situation. 

My  friend  introduced  me  to  the  engineer  who  was 
to  take  out  the  afternoon  train.  He  seemed  despon- 
dent, but  cheered  up  over  a  drink,  and  gave  a  highly 
coloured  account  of  a  car  full  of  dead  colonels  and 
generals  he  had  found.  The  rebels  were  fond  of 
mutilation.  He  explained  in  most  sulphurous 
phrases  what  he  would  do  if  they  interfered  with 


204  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

his  engine,  and  gave  an  entertaining  account  of  an 
Indian  who  tried  to  steal  a  brass  cock  off  a  boiler 
full  of  steam.  Altogether  he  exerted  quite  a  cheer- 
ing influence. 

I  went  back  to  collect  my  small  belongings,  and 
after  stowing  a  few  tins  of  food  in  my  hand-bag  in 
case  of  a  train  wreck  occurring  miles  from  any- 
where, I  w^ent  down  to  the  depot  again.  I  found 
the  train  made  up  and  the  engine  waiting  with  a  full 
head  of  steam,  while  extra  supplies  of  wood  (they 
are  wood  burners)  were  piled  on  the  tender.  The 
Pullman  coach  was  next  to  the  engine,  then  came  an 
ordinary  coach  (third  class)  for  the  natives ;  another 
similar  coach  containing  forty  Federal  soldiers 
brought  up  the  rear. 

I  stood  on  the  platform  and  talked  over  the  situa- 
tion with  the  other  Pullman  passengers  and  the 
conductor.  My  fellow  passengers  consisted  of  an 
American  mining  engineer,  who  was  dressed  in  the 
khaki  of  his  profession  ;  a  German  merchant  of  half- 
Mexican  parentage ;  and  two  other  Mexicans  of  the 
upper  classes.  The  Pullman  conductor  was  an 
American,  and  the  porter  an  American  negro.  As 
we  absorbed  a  final  cocktail,  the  mining  engineer 
hopefully  remarked  that  he  trusted  he  would  have  a 
stomach  left  by  the  time  we  reached  Vera  Cruz — if 
we  ever  did. 

The  porter  began  to  ring  the  bell,  and  we   got 


UNDER  FIRE  ON  THE  RAILROAD    205 

aboard  and  settled  down  in  the  little  smoking  com- 
partment to  enjoy  the  ride.  That  is  to  say,  to  watch 
for  signs  of  trouble. 

We  had  travelled  about  thirty  kilometres  when 
we  stopped  at  a  little  station.  We  got  out  to  stretch 
our  legs,  and  consulted  the  telegraph  clerk  regarding 
the  situation. 

^*  There  are  no  rebels  in  the  vicinity.  True,  my 
wires  are  cut,  but  that  might  be  anybody.  It  is  not 
my  business  to  repair  them."  And,  "  Have  any  of 
the  senores  a  spare  packet  of  cigarettes  ?"  said  he. 

We  went  on,  feeling  relieved. 

About  half  an  hour  later  I  was  sitting  in  the  Pull- 
man with  the  porter  when  a  window  on  my  right 
was  suddenly  smashed  by  a  bullet.  There  was  im- 
mediate uproar,  and  we  found  that  a  party  of  men, 
about  seventy  yards  off,  were  racing  towards  the 
track,  firing  as  they  came.  Several  bullets  hit  the 
coach,  and  we  felt  the  jump  as  the  engineer  threw 
open  the  engine-throttle  and  let  her  go  at  full  speed 
ahead.  I  was  still  looking  out  of  the  window  when 
the  coach  began  to  rock.  It  was  obvious  that  we 
were  off  the  line,  and  as  I  felt  the  wheels  bumping 
over  the  ties  I  made  for  the  centre  alley -way  between 
the  seats  and  sat  down  on  the  floor.  The  coach  nearly 
tipped  over,  but  there  was  a  crash  as  the  steam- 
brake  came  on  and  we  settled  down;  the  noise 
stopped  and  the  shrill  scream  of  escaping  steam  was 


2o6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

heard.    The  conductor  began  to  curse.    "Those 

rebels  have  ditched  us  I"  he  said. 

I  went  out  on  the  rear  platform  of  the  Pullman. 
The  third-class  passengers — all  Mexicans — were 
still  screaming,  and  the  soldiers  were  jumping 
out  of  the  windows  of  their  coach.  The  Pullman 
and  the  third-class  coach  were  off  the  rail  entirely, 
but  the  hind  bogie  of  the  soldiers'  car  and  the 
express  waggon  remained  on  the  lines.  The  engine 
and  tender  were  on  their  sides  in  the  ditch. 

A  sergeant  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  track  and 
shouted  an  .order.  As  he  spoke  the  rebels  opened 
fire,  and  he  fell  over  before  his  sentence  was  finished, 
the  words  tailing  off  into  a  murmur  as  he  died. 
Speedily  the  soldiers  tumbled  out  of  the  train  and 
took  cover  on  the  opposite  side.  A  burst  of  firing 
broke  out  behind  them,  and  we  became  aware  that 
we  were  ambushed  on  both  sides.  Bullets  were 
striking  the  coaches  and  knocking  up  little  spurts  of 
dust  on  the  track.  Above  the  general  uproar  you 
could  hear  them  beating  on  the  engine  and  tender. 

We  passengers  at  once  took  cover  in  the  Pullman. 
The  soldiers  crept  under  the  carriages  and  began  to 
fire  from  behind  the  wheels.  About  twenty  men, 
under  a  young  lieutenant,  rushed  for  a  borrow  pit  (a 
shallow  depression  from  which  earth  had  been  dug 
to  raise  the  track),  the  walls  of  which  afforded  some 
slight  cover. 


UNDER  FIRE  ON  THE  RAILROAD    207 

We  gathered  at  the  smoke-room  and  lavatory  end 
of  the  Pullman,  the  nickelled  basins  seeming  to  give 
a  pleasing  suggestion  of  armour  plate,  and  there  we 
sat  on  the  floor.  As  v^e  could  see  nothing,  and  the 
firing  came  in  gusts,  the  inaction  soon  told  on  our 
nerves,  so  the  mining  man  and  myself  crawled  into 
the  body  of  the  coach.  At  the  far  end  a  Mexican 
lay  on  the  floor,  and  as  we  came  in  he  raised  his 
head,  and  I  could  see  that  he  was  utterly  panic- 
stricken.  There  were  no  windows  left,  and  the  dust- 
screens  were  torn ;  outside  in  the  brilliant  sunlight 
the  rebels  could  be  seen.  Puffs  of  smoke  rose  here 
and  there  from  the  line,  for  some  were  using  old- 
fashioned-black  powder  rifles;  they  deployed  in  a 
rough  fan-shape,  and  the  horses  could  be  plainly 
seen,  while  one  or  two  dead  or  wounded  lay  out  in 
the  open. 

Although  we  were  non-combatants  and  it  was  not 
our  fight,  the  mining  man  and  I  both  got  into  action 
with  our  carbines.  I  remember  now  that  we  did  not 
say  a  word,  but  started  mutually.  I  felt  that  it  was 
all  hopeless,  and  wished  the  end  would  come.  I  re- 
loaded mechanically  and  fired  fairly  quickly,  but 
soon  got  more  careless  about  exposing  myself  as  I 
aimed. 

The  nigger  porter  joined  us,  and  I  remember 
he  looked  very  old  and  very  dazed.  Report  after 
report  came  from  underneath  the  carriage ;  down 


208  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

the  line  somewhere  a  woman  screamed  incessantly, 
always  on  the  same  note ;  bullets  came  through  the 
coach,  and  whenever  one  passed  through  the  folded 
berths  it  twanged  on  the  wire  mattress,  and  pieces  of 
the  coverings  flew  out  through  the  hole.  The  porter 
remarked,  "  Lordy,  Lordy  !  who's  agwine  to  pay  for 
all  dat  ?"  He  turned  to  me  to  say  something,  and  I 
heard  a  noise  like  a  melon  being  crushed — he  fell 
towards  me  with  his  head  blown  in.  I  let  him 
down  gently  to  the  floor,  but  he  was  killed  instantly. 
Some  of  the  floor  was  now  messy,  so  I  shifted  to 
another  window. 

The  enemy  were  getting  closer,  and  the  mining 
man  touched  me  on  the  shoulder.  "Chuck  the 
carbine — it's  the  surrender  act  for  us,"  he  said. 

I  spun  the  carbine  out  of  the  window,  hid  my 
revolver  under  a  seat,  and  joined  the  others  in  the 
smoking-room.  The  conductor  had  a  shot  arm, 
but  no  one  else  was  hurt. 

All  sounds  of  firing  had  died  down,  and  a  native 
was  waving  a  white  rag  on  the  platform  of  the  third- 
class  coach.  A  soldier  got  up,  and  throwing  down 
his  rifle,  ran  to  meet  the  advancing  rebels ;  he  waved 
his  hands  in  the  air,  but  they  closed  in  and  shot  him 
down  with  their  revolvers. 

They  dashed  up  to  the  wreck  reeling  in  their 
saddles,  red-eyed  with  the  passion  of  the  fight,  and 
shouting,  "Muera  los  Federales  ?"  "Viva  Maderol" 


UNDER  FIRE  ON  THE  RAILROAD    209 

and  fired  revolvers  into  the  wreck  at  close  range. 
Two  of  them  dismounted  and  killed  a  wounded 
Federal,  cutting  him  to  pieces  with  machetes. 

The  main  body  reached  us,  and  a  mad  scene  of 
excitement  took  place.  Men  took  rifles  and 
bandoliers  and  looted  the  dead.  Women  screamed 
and  tried  to  save  their  pots  and  pans,  while  the  men 
laughed  and  shouted  rough  jests  to  one  another. 
A  group  of  them  approached  the  Pullman,  and 
levelling  their  rifles  at  us,  told  us  to  put  up  our 
hands;  this  we  did — very  quickly.  We  were  told 
to  leave  the  coach  and  stand  along  the  side  of  the 
track.  The  Mexican  passengers  spoke  up  for  us, 
pleading  that  we  were  inoffensive  travellers  and 
non-political,  that  we  should  not  be  molested. 
Finally  a  leader  rode  up  and  inquired  who  we  were. 
I  said  that  I  was  a  journalist  and  an  Englishman, 
and  absolutely  harmless,  my  one  aim  in  life  being  to 
get  to  my  own  country  as  quickly  as  possible  for 
the  Coronation.  A  great  discussion  now  took  place, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  due  to  make  an  exit ; 
the  only  point  in  doubt  being  whether  we  should  be 
shot  at  once  or  kept  for  amusement  later.  We 
hoped  they  would  not  delay.  Finally  they  sobered 
down,  and  we  were  searched  for  arms  or  money.  I 
had  hidden  some  of  my  money  inside  my  hat-band, 
the  rest  in  my  boots  ;  but  I  had  kept  out  a  few  small 
bills  and  some  cash,  which  was  enough  to  satisfy  my 

14 


210  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

robber.  He  examined  my  watch,  but  finding  it  was 
a  dollar  Ingersoll,  returned  it.  I  then  borrowed  a 
cigarette  from  him,  and  crumbling  it  up,  filled  my 
pipe.  My  big  English  pipe  then  became  an  object 
of  great  interest  and  amusement,  and  was  sampled 
by  several  rebels.  They  decided  that  it  was  an 
acquired  taste,  and  returned  it  to  me. 

They  were  all  very  keen  for  news  of  the  campaign, 
and  I  told  them  all  the  news  and  invented  a  good 
deal  more.  Just  then  it  was  discovered  that  the 
lieutenant  was  alive  and  able  to  walk.  All  his 
men  were  dead,  and  the  wounded  had  all  been 
killed.  They  proposed  to  string  him  up  to  a  tele- 
graph pole,  but  just  as  they  got  ready  a  sudden 
excitement  brought  the  news  that  another  train  was 
coming.  We  were  immediately  put  under  guard 
again,  and  a  body  of  rebels  went  off  at  a  gallop  to 
stop  it.  The  train  proved  to  be  a  repair  train  from 
the  depot,  and  had  no  soldiers  aboard,  so  it 
surrendered  at  once. 

All  interest  now  centred  upon  the  bursting  open 
of  the  safe  in  the  express  waggon.  Dynamite  was 
brought,  and  we  all  grouped  round  to  see  the  show. 
All  the  boxes  were  thrown  out  on  the  track  and 
opened  by  the  rebels.  They  had  an  awfully  good 
time,  one  wit  parading  in  a  lady's  hat.  Anything 
they  could  not  use  they  spoilt. 

The  safe  was  duly  burst,  and   it  was  found  to 


UNDER  FIRE  ON  THE  RAILROAD    211 

contain  4,000  dollars  in  Mexican  money.  At  this 
there  were  universal  rejoicings,  and  we  were  saved — 
indeed  we  became  fast  friends.  The  leader  told  us 
to  get  what  was  left  of  our  personal  belongings  and 
to  get  on  board  the  other  train. 

I  got  my  hand-bag  from  the  carriage,  and  found 
my  revolver  still  safely  hidden.  This  I  slipped 
inside  my  shirt.  My  Kodak  was  not  loaded,  but  I 
produced  the  instrument,  and  took  a  series  of  lovely 
groups,  all  work  stopping  in  order  that  the  heroes 
could  pose  properly.  I  swore  to  give  them  all 
prints,  or  rather  to  leave  them  at  the  General  Post 
Office  in  Mexico  City  for  them  to  claim  when  they 
entered  the  capital  in  triumph. 

With  much  hand-shaking  and  expressions  of 
regret  for  the  "  fortune  of  war,"  we  got  on  board 
the  relief  train.  Just  as  we  were  leaving,  the  con- 
ductor and  I  asked  for  permission  to  take  the 
porter's  body  along.  This  was  immediately  granted, 
and  so  we  all  journeyed  to  Mexico  City  in  the 
luggage  van;  and  it  wasn't  till  we  were  safely  off 
that  we  found  time  to  be  nervous  about  what  had 
happened. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

RIOTING    IN   THE   CITY 

Mexico  City  was  excited.  A  plot  to  seize  the  bar- 
racks of  Tacubaya  had  been  discovered,  and  the  city 
prison  of  Belem  was  crowded  with  prisoners. 

The  police  were  much  in  evidence,  and  little 
patrols  of  mounted  gendarmes  were  policing  the 
squares  and  main  roads.  Business  was  at  a  stand- 
still, and  the  suburbs  were  reported  to  be  already  in 
the  hands  of  the  rebels.  The  shops  were  open,  but 
no  trade  was  in  progress ;  everybody  gathered  in  the 
saloons  and  cafes  and  discussed  the  situation,  while 
the  newspaper  boys  reaped  a  rich  harvest  selling 
special  editions. 

*'The  President  was  going  to  resign."  Diaz  the 
iron  man,  the  autocrat,  the  statesman,  Diaz  who  had 
made  Mexico,  Diaz  the  tyrant,  had  been  forced  by 
the  revolution  to  resign.  He  was  going  to  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies  in  person,  and  was  going  to 
hand  over  the  reins  of  government  to  De  la  Barra 
until  Madero  could  be  elected.  Six  months  ago  he 
was  the  most  popular  man  in  the  Republic. 

212 


RIOTING  IN  THE  CITY  213 

The  Centennial  celebrations  had  been  held, 
Mexico  had  been  free  for  a  hundred  years,  and  at 
peace  for  the  last  thirty,  and  it  was  Diaz  who  had 
kept  that  peace.  The  representatives  of  European 
nations  paid  him  homage,  and  the  newspapers 
screamed  his  praises.  What  had  he  done  to  be 
forced  to  resign  ?    Nothing. 

Fickle,  untrustworthy  Mexico  had  turned.  A 
revolution  had  been  started,  and  younger  men 
wanted  the  jobs  held  by  their  elders.  Local  oppres- 
sion by  local  authorities — in  the  name  of  the  Presi- 
dent— had  fanned  the  flame,  and  now,  after  all,  he 
had  to  go. 

I  was  standing  outside  the  Iturbide  Hotel  when 
the  storm  broke.  A  mob  of  men  and  boys  carrying 
aloft  a  picture  of  Madero,  and  brandishing  sticks 
and  scraps  of  red,  white,  and  green  bunting — the 
national  colours  of  Mexico — burst  into  the  main 
street,  and  marched  towards  the  central  Cathedral 
Square,  the  ''Zocalo."  Everywhere  the  people 
rushed  to  swell  the  mob,  and  the  news  travelled 
from  lip  to  lip :  *'  Diaz  has  refused  to  resign ;  he 
says  he  will  to-morrow" — "manana"  (to-morrow), 
the  inevitable  Spanish  phrase  of  postponement. 

The  mob  was  furious  and  shouted  itself  hoarse, 
crying  "  Viva  Madero !"  Anxious  shopkeepers  flew 
to  put  up  shutters,  and  the  police  gathered  to  oppose 
the  rioters.     On   the    asphalt    roads    gravel    was 


214  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

scattered  so  that  the  hoofs  of  the  cavalry  should  not 
slip,  and  then  the  troops  were  called  out. 

All  Mexico  was  in  the  streets,  and  everybody  was 
waiting  for  the  inevitable  clash  between  the  military 
and  the  mob.  It  came  earlier  than  was  expected, 
when  the  rioters  in  a  freak  of  temper  commenced  to 
break  the  windows  of  the  European  shops.  The 
police  dispersed  the  mob  time  and  time  again,  but  it 
re-formed,  and  when  the  evening  fell  there  were 
many  different  mobs,  several  thousand  strong, 
parading  the  city,  shouting  "Viva  Madero— death 
to  Diaz !" 

The  lower  elements  had  seized  the  public  carriages, 
and  these  poor  hacks,  thickly  clustered  with  Mexican 
hooligans,  paraded  round  like  floats  in  a  proces- 
sion. The  drinking -shops  and  pulquerias  had 
been  closed  by  order  of  the  Governor  of  the 
Federal  District,  but  still  many  of  the  mob  were 
drunk. 

At  about  eight  o'clock  the  Zocalo  was  full.  This 
great  square  is  the  heart  of  Mexico  City,  as  Trafalgar 
Square  is  the  heart  of  London,  and  they  are  about 
equal  in  size.  At  each  corner  narrow  streets — the 
important  business  streets  of  the  city — lead  into  it. 
The  centre  is  occupied  by  a  bandstand  and  a  Httle 
park.  One  side  is  taken  up  by  the  Cathedral,  and 
the  far  side  is  the  long  fagade  of  the  National  Palace, 
while  the  two  sides  nearest  the  business  quarter  are 


p 

H 

o  f^ 


RIOTING  IN  THE  CITY  215 

arranged  as  covered  ways,  great  pillared  verandas 
resembling  cloisters,  beneath  which  are  booths  and 
shops.  These  are  known  as  the  ''portales."  The 
Zocalo  is  the  centre  for  the  great  electric  tram 
system,  the  rails  of  which  were  being  relaid.  The 
asphalt  and  stones  had  been  dug  up  and  were 
being  used  as  missiles  by  the  crowd,  their  inten- 
tion being  to  break  the  windows  of  the  National 
Palace,  drawn  up  before  which  was  a  regiment  of 
soldiers. 

From  a  position  in  the  portales  I  watched  the 
scene.  The  frenzied  crowd  shouting  and  raging 
beneath  the  glare  of  the  arc  lamps,  but  still  not  as 
yet  dangerous.  The  trams  were  unable  to  move, 
and  a  blockade  had  formed  which  the  police  were 
attempting  to  clear.  A  tram  from  the  suburbs  came 
in,  and  the  mob  rushed  the  platform  and  seized  the 
controller  handle  from  the  driver. 

A  policeman  went  to  his  assistance,  and  a  peon 
beat  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes.  The  policeman 
drew  his  pistol  and  shot  down  his  assailant.  On 
the  firing  of  the  shot  the  whole  crowd  stopped 
shouting,  and  silence  reigned  for  a  second;  then 
from  those  nearest  the  policeman  a  scream  of 
execration  went  up.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
then  ran  straight  for  cover  beneath  the  portales, 
the  crowd  opening  to  let  him  pass;  he  reached 
Tardan's  hat  shop  and  bolted  through  the  door; 


2i6  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

the  mob  surged  forward  to  follow  him,  but  the  iron 
curtains  descended  and  covered  both  windows  and 
doors.  Hastily  the  shop-assistant  screwed  them 
into  place  and  retreated  into  the  shop.  The  fury 
of  the  mob  knew  no  bounds.  With  the  pieces  of 
asphalt  they  bombarded  the  shops,  wrecking  all 
unprotected  windows,  then  turned  their  attention 
to  wrecking  the  arc  lamps ;  in  a  minute  the  square 
was  almost  in  darkness.  The  shout  had  died  down 
to  a  low  growl  of  fury,  and  occasional  pistol-shots 
showed  the  presence  of  fire-arms. 

A  bugle-call  rang  out  from  the  National  Palace, 
and  another  side  of  the  square  filled  with  mounted 
gendarmes,  their  carbines  unslung  and  ready  for 
action.  A  hoarse  command  was  given  to  clear  the 
square,  but  the  crowd  commenced  to  stone  the 
military,  who  without  further  delay  opened  fire  on 
them.  Women  and  men,  unable  to  move  in  the 
crush,  screamed  in  panic,  and  the  whole  body 
surged  and  fought  to  get  out  of  the  square. 

A  great  cry  went  up  from  the  trapped  rioters, 
but  the  firing  continued,  and  a  machine-gun  on  the 
roof  of  the  palace  poured  its  leaden  hail  into  the 
mass.  The  fire  continued  for  about  three  minutes, 
till  the  square  was  empty  but  for  the  dead  and 
wounded,  and  those  who  crouched  for  cover  behind 
the  pillars  of  the  portales. 

The  mounted  men  chased  the  flying  rioters  and 


RIOTING  IN  THE  CITY  217 

the  police  took  charge  of  the  square.  Everywhere 
lay  dead  and  wounded,  and  the  whole  ground  was 
littered  with  clubs  and  stones. 

A  tropical  thunderstorm  now  broke,  and  in  the 
pouring  rain  the  ambulance  parties  collected  the 
victims;  the  work  lasted  for  about  an  hour  and  a 
half.  By  ten  o'clock  the  Zocalo  was  clear,  and  the 
rioters  all  hidden  in  their  homes.  No  truthful 
figures  were  ever  published  of  the  numbers  killed 
and  wounded,  but  in  one  '*  commissaria,"  or  local 
police-station,  I  counted  fifteen  corpses,  and  the 
city  hospital  was  full. 

The  rain-storm  had  saved  the  city,  and  the  night 
passed  without  further  bloodshed,  though  every- 
body was  apprehensive  of  the  morrow.  The  next 
morning  I  went  for  my  usual  morning  ride,  and 
found  that  the  mobs  were  already  forming.  By 
seven  o'clock  it  was  evident  that  there  was  going 
to  be  more  trouble. 

I  went  to  the  cable  office  with  my  news,  but 
found  the  line  closed.  I  was,  however,  able  to 
telegraph  to  the  States  by  means  of  one  of  the 
Federal  telegraphs.  Within  half  an  hour  of  the 
despatch  of  my  message  this  line  was  also  cut,  and 
Mexico  City  was  cut  off"  from  communication  with 
the  outside  world. 

The  mobs  were  soon  parading  the  streets  and 
doing  a  good  deal  of  damage.     In  many  cases  they 


2i8  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

were  led  by  women,  the  scenes  recalling  accounts 
of  the  French  Revolution. 

The  remarkable  way  in  which  the  better  classes 
accepted  the  situation  was  notable — everybody  was 
out  in  the  street  enjoying  the  fun.  The  ladies  sat 
in  the  balconies  in  their  best  clothes  and  watched 
the  crowds.  Mexico  City  was  enjoying  the  carnival 
with  leaden  bullets  for  confetti.  At  every  street 
corner  stood  groups  of  men,  watching  the  latest 
whim  of  the  mob.  This  new  game  was  the  forcible 
seizure  of  the  public  tram  service.  They  rushed 
the  cars  and  clambered  all  over  them,  crowds 
sitting  on  the  roof  and  clustering  on  the  back 
platforms.  As  the  lower-class  Mexican  does  not 
understand  electricity,  there  were  several  fatali- 
ties before  all  the  trams  were  run  into  their 
depots. 

A  demonstration  was  held  on  the  Paseo  de  la 
Reforma,  and  a  policeman  killed  by  the  mob. 
Cavalry  was  rushed  to  the  scene,  and  a  charge 
took  place.  In  the  brilliant  sunshine  it  was  a 
remarkable  scene.  The  air  above  the  rioters  was 
thick  with  stones  and  billets  of  wood;  as  the 
cavalry  charged,  the  sunlight  glittered  on  their 
flashing  sabres,  and  within  a  minute  the  mob  was 
running  for  its  life,  and  only  the  wounded  and 
dead  remained. 

The  rival  ambulance  corps  descended  and  col- 


RIOTING  IN  THE  CITY  219 

lected  their  victims.  They  threw  sheets  em- 
blazoned with  the  red  cross  or  the  blue  cross  over 
various  public  cabs,  and  used  them  to  carry  the 
victims  to  the  hospitals. 

Blood-thirsty  encounters  took  place  outside 
several  of  the  principal  hotels,  and  by  midday 
Mexico  City  looked  as  if  it  had  stood  a  siege.  All 
shops  were  boarded  up  and  heavily  shuttered, 
great  pieces  of  the  broken  plate-glass  windows 
lay  in  the  street,  and  all  wheeled  traffic  had  disap- 
peared. Except  for  the  police  and  the  ambulances, 
there  was  not  a  single  vehicle  about. 

At  last  the  news  came  that  the  President  had 
at  last  resigned,  and  the  city  gave  itself  over  to 
rejoicings.  A  motor-car  came  in  bearing  some  of 
the  rebels'  leaders,  who  tried  to  calm  the  mob  and 
appealed  to  them  to  preserve  order.  These  rebels 
were  welcomed  by  the  authorities,  but  soon  re- 
joined their  commands,  as  the  situation  was  by  no 
means  secure. 

General  Diaz's  house  was  situated  in  Cadena 
Street,  and  each  end  of  this  street  was  guarded  by 
soldiers  to  prevent  the  mob  attacking  the  house. 
All  public  buildings  were  guarded,  and  the  citadel 
protected  by  a  wire  fence  some  eight  feet  high, 
covered  by  machine-guns.  For  two  days  the  gar- 
rison had  had  no  rest. 

Night    fell    on    a   city    where    rejoicings    were 


220  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

being  held  at  one  corner  of  the  street  while  fighting 
was  in  progress  at  the  other. 

In  the  suburbs  the  men  who  had  formed  the 
Government  hastily  prepared  for  flight.  All  cafes 
were  closed,  and  in  the  barricaded  streets  the 
crowd  cheered  and  paraded. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AN  EXODUS 

The  rioting  in  the  city  still  continued,  but  it  had 
changed  to  a  less  serious  form  of  public  activity, 
rather  resembling  the  behaviour  of  an  election 
crowd  than  the  bloody  fighting  of  the  day  before. 
The  city  was  still  isolated,  and  to  make  matters 
worse,  my  ship  was  due  to  leave  Vera  Cruz  on 
the  following  day.  My  only  chance  of  reaching 
England  in  time  for  the  Coronation  was  to  leave 
the  city  for  Vera  Cruz  at  once.  From  all  accounts 
the  trains  were  absolutely  held  up,  and  there  could 
be  no  traffic  till  the  lines  were  cleared,  and  the 
bridges  that  had  been  wrecked  by  the  rebels  built 
up  again. 

I  was  in  despair,  but  arranged  with  a  friend  at 
the  San  Lazaro  station  to  telephone  me  if  any 
chance  of  getting  through  presented  itself.  My 
heavy  baggage  lay  at  Vera  Cruz  awaiting  my 
arrival,  but  I  had  several  small  packages  to  carry 
upon  the  journey,  so  I  packed  and  got  everything 
ready  for  a  hasty  departure.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
I  received  a  telephone  message  from  the  station, 

221 


222  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

to  the  effect  that  the  line  was  clear,  but  there  was 
no  service  for  the  public.  There  was,  however, 
much  excitement  in  the  station,  as  they  were  pre- 
paring six  special  trains,  two  of  them  with  armoured 
cars  attached.  I  realized  at  once  that  the  President 
was  going  to  leave  the  city,  and  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  if  possible  at  the  same  time.  The 
route  that  was  clear  was  not  the  usual  one  direct 
to  Vera  Cruz  via  Puebla,  but  a  roundabout  way 
over  the  Interoceanic  Company's  system,  so  it 
was  evident  that  the  flight  would  be  a  secret 
one. 

After  getting  my  luggage  together,  I  was  con- 
fronted with  a  new  difficulty :  there  were  no  public 
hacks — the  streets  of  the  city,  usually  crowded  with 
vehicles,  were  absolutely  empty,  with  the  exception 
of  one  or  two  ambulance  automobiles.  The  station 
was  situated  about  a  mile  away  at  the  other  end  of 
the  city  and  amidst  the  lowest  quarters,  an  unwise 
district  to  visit  on  foot  at  any  time,  but  at  this  period 
of  excitement  decidedly  risky  for  a  foreigner. 
While  in  this  dilemma  a  Mexican  peon  wheeling  a 
handcart  approached.  I  asked  him  if  he  would 
carry  my  luggage,  and  in  spite  of  the  offer  of  several 
dollars  he  refused. 

After  a  long  argument  I  overcame  his  fears  by  the 
appeal  to  his  cupidity,  and  he  consented  to  carry 
my  kit. 


AN  EXODUS  223 

Accompanied  by  a  friend  or  two,  we  set  out  in 
procession  for  the  station.  Many  evil  looks  were 
cast  upon  us,  but  we  were  not  molested,  and  in 
about  half  an  hour's  time  we  reached  our  goal. 

The  San  Lazaro  depot  was  surrounded  by 
soldiers  and  police,  but  I  was  allowed  to  enter 
with  my  friends,  though  the  peon  was  kept  out- 
side. 

Within  the  station  were  several  trains,  the  loco- 
motives standing  by  with  a  full  head  of  steam. 
Attached  to  two  of  them  were  the  black-and-white 
chequered  armoured  cars.  They  had  been  built  in 
the  city  and  equipped  with  machine-guns  in  the 
citadel,  but  had  not  yet  been  used  against  the 
rebels.  Without  further  delay  I  boarded  one  of 
the  special  cars.  The  sentry  on  the  rear  platform 
stopped  me,  but  I  handed  him  my  card  with  an  air 
of  complete  assurance  and  passed  by.  He  was 
perfectly  contented,  for  in  Mexico  a  journalist  is 
allowed  a  great  latitude.  Piling  my  kit  on  a  seat, 
I  bade  my  friends  farewell,  and  sat  down,  in  fear 
and  trembling,  to  await  the  arrival  of  someone  in 
authority  who  would  chuck  me  out.  I  heard  the 
sentry  present  arms,  and  someone  entered  the 
carriage.  To  my  great  relief  it  was  an  officer  of 
the  Presidential  Guard  with  whom  I  was  acquainted. 
We  greeted  one  another  warmly,  and  before  he 
could  question  my  presence,  I  asked  him  for  the 


224  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

news.  The  strain  of  the  past  few  days  had  told 
hardly  upon  him,  and  he  nervously  sketched  out 
the  tale  of  the  preparations  for  flight.  All  was 
chaos,  and  no  one  knew  whether  Diaz  was  coming, 
or  whether  it  was  merely  members  of  the  house- 
hold departing.  As  he  spoke  a  prominent  member 
of  the  late  Government  and  his  family  entered 
I  made  myself  useful  carrying  luggage,  etc.,  and 
everybody  seemed  to  take  my  presence  for  granted. 
A  small  escort  of  the  Presidential  Guard  appeared, 
and  from  them  we  understood  that  our  train  was 
to  leave  shortly.  Before  we  left,  an  armoured  train 
pulled  out  of  the  station,  followed  by  a  special, 
containing  a  prominent  member  of  a  British  firm 
who  was  to  arrange  all  matters  relative  to  the 
President's  housing  at  Vera  Cruz. 

It  was  a  weird  scene,  and  the  nervous  tension  was 
terrific.  One  could  see  the  lights  of  the  arc  lamps 
reflected  from  the  glittering  uniforms,  and  the  red 
glare  of  the  engine's  fire-boxes,  which  were  con- 
tinually being  fed  by  the  firemen,  lit  up  the  dark- 
ness, while  the  whole  roof  rang  with  the  hiss  of 
escaping  steam,  and  little  groups  of  men  on  the 
platforms  spoke  in  subdued  whispers. 

Outside  in  the  station  yard  one  could  hear  the 
howling  of  the  mob  as  they  paraded  the  empty 
streets  of  the  city. 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  just  before  we  pulled 


TROOPS    GUARDING    PRESIDENT    DIAZ'S    HODSE    IN    CALLE    CADENA 


AN  EXODUS  225 

out  a  long  grey  motor-car,  escorted  by  a  few  people 
in  civilian  attire,  slid  into  the  station,  and  Diaz — late 
President  of  the  Republic — got  in. 

The  night  was  cloudy,  but  later  the  moon  gave  a 
good  deal  of  briUiance,  lighting  up  the  fantastic 
landscape  with  its  faint  ghostly  light.  The  little 
stations  flew  by  and  the  false  dawn  was  lighting  the 
sky  before  we  came  to  a  halt.  Round  a  curve  we 
could  see  the  tail  lights  of  the  train  before  us,  for 
they  had  halted  while  the  soldiers  ahead  hastily  re- 
paired the  wrecked  track.  Behind  us,  somewhere 
along  the  track,  were  following  the  other  three 
special  trains,  containing  the  ex- President,  his  family, 
and  his  escort.  Except  for  the  hiss  of  escaping 
steam  from  the  engine,  and  the  noise  of  the  con- 
ductor's boots  as  he  walked  along  the  rails,  swinging 
a  lantern,  the  night  was  absolutely  silent;  but  to 
our  strained  nerves,  every  patch  of  bushes  and  the 
dark  shadows  of  the  *'  barrancas  "  seemed  as  if  they 
might  harbour  an  ambush  of  rebels.  The  train  went 
on,  and  the  skies  gradually  lightened  with  the 
coming  of  the  dawn.  Standing  on  the  platform  of 
the  carriage,  I  watched  the  colours  of  the  sun- 
rise paint  the  snow-capped  peak  of  Orizaba,  which 
seemed  to  rise  like  an  enchanted  island  from  the 
sea  of  mist  below.  We  halted  at  a  little  station 
and  received  the  news  that  the  rebels  had  attacked 
the  train  before  us  but  had  been  beaten  off,  the 

IS 


226  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

machine-guns  in  the  armoured  car  taking  a  heavy 
toll  of  them. 

The  soldiers  lined  the  windows  of  the  cars  and 
stood  on  the  alert  as  we  drew  near  the  scene  of  the 
action.  A  shot  or  two  rang  out  on  the  hill-sides  and 
a  body  of  mounted  rebels,  who  were  some  dis- 
tance away  from  the  track,  galloped  madly  to  cut  us 
off.  A  volley  from  our  escort,  fired  while  the  train 
was  in  motion,  made  them  wheel  round  and  scatter, 
firing  occasional  and  futile  shots  at  us  as  we  went  by. 

This  same  party  of  rebels  attacked  the  train  con- 
taining the  President  that  was  following  us,  and 
were  defeated  by  the  loss  of  over  thirty  men.  Old 
General  Hermandez  and  the  ex-President  himself 
taking  part  in  the  fight. 

We  saw  several  small  troops  of  rebels,  and  one 
station  was  in  their  hands  ;  but  we  did  not  stop  and 
were  not  molested,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two 
casual  shots  fired  at  the  train  on  general  principles. 
By  eight  o'clock  we  reached  Vera  Cruz,  where  the 
heat  was  unbearable  and  the  change  in  the  air- 
pressure,  caused  by  our  descent  of  8,000  feet,  almost 
deafened  us. 

The  ex-Presidential  train  waited  outside  Vera 
Cruz,  while  Mr.  Fred  Adams,  of  the  firm  of  Sir 
Weetman  Pearson,  made  arrangements  for  the 
housing  of  the  ex-President  in  a  house  next  to  the 
British  Consulate,  in  the  suburbs  of  Vera  Cruz. 


AN  EXODUS  227 

Vera  Cruz — the  rich  city  of  the  Holy  Cross,  as 
Drake  termed  it — lay  bathed  in  heat.  Under  the 
portales  of  the  plaza  sat  the  residents,  white-clad 
and  cool,  languid  in  the  shadow.  At  one  little 
marble-topped  table  two  dust-begrimed  officers  of 
the  Presidential  Guard  talked  rapidly  with  some 
local  officials.  The  Guard  was  usually  so  spick 
and  span  as  to  compare  favourably  with  German 
officers,  but  to-day  they  were  unshaven,  dust- 
begrimed,  and  overheated,  in  their  heavy  uniforms 
of  blue  and  silver.  Yet  they  were  deserving  of 
great  honour,  for  at  great  risk  they  had  remained 
loyal  to  their  President  —  Diaz  —  who  was  now 
going  away  into  exile,  leaving  his  adherents  behind 
to  stand  or  fall,  according  to  the  will  of  the 
incoming  tyrant.  To  be  a  loyal  officer  of  the 
Guard  might  mean  much  suffering  in  the  future, 
but  it  was  about  the  finest  thing  to  be  seen  in 
Vera  Cruz,  for  it  is  one  thing  to  fight  for  a 
President,  and  it  is  another  to  be  one  of  a  small 
group  assisting  and  guarding  a  shattered  old  man 
in  the  midst  of  hundreds  of  personal  and  political 
enemies,  when  no  one  knew  what  terror  was  about 
to  happen. 

Diaz  was  harboured  in  a  house  near  the  British 
Consulate,  a  house  belonging  to  an  English  firm, 
and  every  Englishman  felt  that  it  was  a  good  thing 
to  be  a  Britisher  when  even  ex- Presidents  realized 


228  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

the  sanctuary  and  power  that  our  flag  affirmed. 
He  had  withstood  the  voice  of  the  people.  He 
had  not  listened  to  the  murmurs  of  the  younger 
generation.  He  had  believed  in  the  State  that  he 
had  made,  and  he  had  believed  in  his  people.  It 
was  all  infinitely  pitiful,  but  the  old  dog  was 
beaten,  and  Liberty  was  again  awake  in  the  land. 
In  Latin  America  Liberty  is  Licence,  and  even  yet 
the  shadow  of  his  past  kept  the  city  of  Vera  Cruz 
quiet,  though  in  the  City  of  Mexico  carillons 
rang  from  all  the  steeples,  and  the  people  cele- 
brated the  downfall  of  a  tyrant,  while  a  special 
train  brought  Don  Francisco  I.  Madero  nearer  to 
his  capital. 

Newspaper-boys  sold  "  special  edition "  after 
"special  edition"  and  "Viva  Madero!"  flamed  in 
electric  lamps  from  over  the  public  hall,  yet  the 
quiet  groups  of  police  kept  the  populace  moving, 
and  the  platoons  of  soldiery  at  the  corner  of  the 
streets  leant  on  their  loaded  rifles  and  eyed  the 
nervous  crowd.  Everybody  feared  an  outbreak, 
and  in  the  evening  when  the  crowd  commenced 
in  orderly  fashion  to  circulate  round  the  plaza, 
and  the  old  man  whose  duty  it  was  at  nightfall 
to  fire  off  squibs  in  the  branches  of  the  trees 
in  order  to  scare  away  the  roosting  birds  lest 
they  should  defile  the  people  circulating  beneath, 
exploded    his   crackers,   everyone    started,    and    a 


AN  EXODUS  229 

murmur  went  through  the  ranks  of  the  waiting 
soldiery. 

The  cause  of  the  alarm  noted,  a  wave  of  laughter 
swept  the  crowd  and  the  boulevardiers,  who  beneath 
the  portales  resumed  their  sipping  of  cocktails  and 
eager  discussions  of  events. 

The  night  passed  off  quietly. 

In  the  hotel  where  I  was  staying  I  found  several 
friends  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  boats ;  my  ship, 
the  Morro  Castle  (a  Ward  Line  boat  bound  for  Cuba 
and  New  York),  was  already  in  dock,  but  would  not 
sail  until  the  morrow.  I  got  my  luggage  on  board, 
and  then  returned  to  the  hotel ;  my  friends  had 
hired  a  sailing-boat,  and  we  left  the  harbour  for  a 
run  to  the  Isla  de  Sacrificios,  a  coral  island  where 
the  bodies  of  many  heretic  English  sailors  lie,  and 
where  once  stood  a  temple  where  the  Spaniards 
first  found  human  sacrifice  in  progress. 

The  sea-breeze  was  refreshing,  and  the  view  of 
the  city  with  its  harbour,  and  the  grim  old  prison 
of  San  Juan  de  Alloa,  where  political  prisoners 
served  fife  sentences  in  the  unlighted  cells  beneath 
sea-level,  backed  by  the  Sierras  and  snow-capped 
Orizaba,  seemed  like  a  well-lighted  panorama,  and 
after  life  in  the  thin  air  of  the  city,  each  breath 
at  sea-level  seemed  full,  soothing,  and  soporific. 
That  evening  we  gave  ourselves  a  farewell  supper, 
and  although  glad  to  be   homeward-bound  again, 


230  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

I  regretted  leaving  old  Mexico,  whose  charm  and 
lure  is  as  old  as  the  Conquest. 

The  Morro  Castle  steamed  out  into  Campeche  Bay, 
and  I  watched  the  coast-line  grow  faint  in  the  tropic 
haze,  and  the  white  sails  of  the  fishing-boats  grow 
smaller  and  smaller,  wondering  what  would  be  the 
fate  of  Mexico,  yet  glad  of  the  restfulness  of  the 
sea  trip  after  the  anxious  weeks.  Well,  I  had  had 
a  busy  time  and  now  was  glad  to  rest. 

The  boat  seemed  strangely  quiet,  few  people 
appeared  in  the  saloon,  though  most  of  the  cabins 
were  full.  Off  Yucatan  the  tender  brought  more 
passengers  aboard,  and  after  awhile  we  up-anchored 
and  sailed  for  Cuba — Hispaniola  of  blessed  memory. 
We  had  done  with  Mexico,  and  forthwith  the  ship 
became  populous.  From  every  cabin  came  refugees 
and  their  families,  bound  for  New  York,  and  that 
heaven  of  all  Latin  Americans  and  good  journalists — 
Paris. 

The  passenger  list  was  a  mockery.  Senor  Pineda 
turned  out  to  be  Sr.  Don,  ex-Cabinet  Minister,  and 
they  were  all  safe,  free  and  upon  the  high  seas. 
Everyone  was  very  happy.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  be 
on  your  way  to  Paris  instead  of  off  to  prison,  and  the 
girls  danced  in  the  saloon,  while  mamma  relaxed 
discipline  and  convention  in  the  joy  of  their  escape. 
In  the  smoke-room  we  discussed  and  intrigued  to 
re-establish  the  Diaz  regime,  and  great  names  in 


AN  EXODUS  231 

politics  and  finance  were  bandied  to  and  fro.  The 
Junta  in  New  York  would  welcome  me,  the  English 
were  friends  of  the  educated  people,  not  of  "canalla," 
like  the  Maderistas — and  then  came  the  explosion. 
Somebody  discovered  Maderist  spies  on  board  com- 
municating by  wireless  the  unfettered  speech  and 
aspiration  of  the  refugees. 

Grim  was  the  search  for  the  traitor,  and  everyone 
felt  the  chill  of  hesitation  and  doubt.  Finally  sus- 
picion fell  upon  a  quiet  Licenciado,  a  Mexican 
barrister,  and  as  Senora  Estella,  a  little  nut-brown 
Yucateca,  told  me  that  evening — they  had  evidence, 
"  si "  much  evidence  I  and  the  Licenciado  would 
be  lucky  if  a  **desgracia"  (an  accident)  did  not 
occur. 

At  Havana  he  left  the  ship,  and  never  came  on 
board  again,  although  he  left  all  his  belongings.  I 
hope  that  he  merely  missed  the  boat,  but  as  the 
Junta  had  been  using  the  wireless  too,  and  Havana 
is  a  hot-bed  of  intrigue,  it  is  possible  that  after  all 
that  "  desgracia  "  must  have  occurred,  and  from  the 
way  that  everybody  was  standing  drinks  to  the 
damnation  of  Madero  that  evening — all  without 
rhyme  or  reason — I  sincerely  believe  that  the  Junta 
scored  a  trick  in  the  narrow-streeted  City  of  Havana. 

We  were  a  queer  crowd,  and  few  of  the  men — 
myself  among  them — could  stand  anybody  passing 
behind  us  without  a  display  of  '*  nerves."    I  had  not 


232  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

realized  it  when  the  excitement  was  on,  but  the 
strain  had  told  considerably,  and  I  was  by  no  means 
free  from  "nerves."  Malaria  and  excitement  play 
the  devil  with  one's  reserve  of  force.  But  the  sea 
air  was  splendid,  and  I  felt  sorry  as  the  lazy  trip 
past  the  Florida  coast  drew  to  an  end. 

New  York  at  last !  Up  the  river  and  then  the 
sky-scrapers,  and  the  little  green  garden  of  Battery 
Point,  through  the  Customs,  across  on  a  ferry,  then 
smash  into  the  whirl  of  Broadway  once  again — all 
Anglo-Saxon  advertisements  and  speech  —  real 
hotels,  real  theatres,  real  food.  Civilization  once 
again,  and  all  white  faces  in  the  streets.  Mexico 
slipped  back  two  centuries  again,  and  once  more  I 
felt  in  touch  with  the  centre  of  things,  for  New  York 
is  very  like  London. 

The  return  is  always  good,  and  the  returned 
traveller  finds  few  greater  joys  on  his  travels  than 
when,  after  long  absence,  he  gets  into  touch  again 
with  familiar  things.  Yet  New  York,  although 
familiar,  was  not  my  city ;  it  was  great ;  it  was  joy- 
ful ;  but  it  only  whetted  my  appetite  for  London. 
Next  day  I  sailed  upon  a  White  Star  boat — home- 
ward bound. 

Since  Madero  has  held  the  reins  of  government, 
a  year  has  passed,  and  still  the  cables  of  the  world 
vibrate  to  paragraphs  of  **  insurgency  in  Mexico." 
Paris  maintains  Mexican  securities,  but  peace  does 


AN  EXODUS  233 

not  come.  Armed  bands  of  guerillas  ravage  the 
country,  and  liberty  and  anarchy  are  still  confounded. 
Some  day  the  American  Flag  will  embrace  all  the 
territory  from  Panama  to  the  Canadian  line;  that 
day  cannot  be  long  postponed. 

Mexico  has  exchanged  a  soldier  for  a  civilian, 
peace  for  war,  and  prosperity  and  reputation  for 
insecurity  and  insurrection.  The  Presidency  of 
Mexico  is  a  perilous  honour — may  he  who  holds 
it  hold  it  firm. 


APPENDIX 

Since  the  foregoing  chapters  were  written  Mexican 
politics  have  again  attracted  the  notice  of  the  civiHzed 
world,  and  Don  Francisco  Indalecio  Madero,  President 
of  Mexico,  has  been  murdered  in  the  streets  of  his 
capital. 

When  I  left  the  country  in  191 1,  Madero,  an  untried 
man,  a  politician  and  reformer  unused  to  ruling,  was 
about  to  be  elected  President  by  popular  acclamation. 
The  rising  that  he  had  so  successfully  led  was  popular, 
and  the  people  were  sick  of  the  tyranny  and  corruption 
of  the  Diaz-Scientifico  group,  the  farce  of  re-election, 
and  the  lack  of  general  political  honesty. 

Madero  was  an  intellectual  man  and  a  man  of  wealth. 
Round  him  congregated  the  advanced  thinkers  of 
Mexico — the  Socialists,  Liberals,  and  all  the  firebrand 
politicians.  Young  Mexico,  the  generation  that  had 
grown  up  under  Diaz,  turned  to  Madero  to  free  them 
from  the  bonds  of  tyranny.  It  was  the  opposite  swing 
of  the  pendulum,  and  "  Liberty"  is  a  dangerous  watch- 
word for  a  people  that  cannot  differentiate  between 
liberty  and  licence. 

His  government  was  better  than  was  expected,  and 
his  attitude  towards  "  reformers,"  who  wished  to  steal 
the  bulk  of  the  public  money,  was  stronger  than  they 
had    anticipated.     Unfortunately,   the    Mexicans    had 

234 


APPENDIX  235 

discovered  that  the  profession  of  revolution  was  more 
attractive  than  that  of  agriculture,  and  scattered  bands 
of  rebels  turned  bandit  were  responsible  for  much  local 
fighting  and  disorganization.  The  aftermath  of  revolu- 
tion produced  the  Orozco  rebellion,  and  the  Zapatistas, 
and  countless  minor  risings. 

Finance  is  necessary  for  any  revolution,  and  it  is  a 
matter  for  speculation  to  what  extent  reputable  firms  in 
the  States  and  Europe  supplied  the  sinews  of  war  to 
maintain  a  constant  anti-Government  movement,  or,  in 
plainer  words,  hired  bandits  to  prevent  the  success  of 
reforms  which  would  have  secured  Mexico's  national 
wealth  to  the  Mexicans  rather  than  to  foreigners. 
Political  corruption  ended  in  political  assassination, 
and  Mexico  again  stands  before  the  world  self-convicted 
of  incapacity  for  stable  government,  still  unable  to  dis- 
tinguish between  Constitutional  government  and  the 
doctrine  of  murder — the  "higher  expediency"  of 
political  assassination. 

Madero  made  mistakes,  but  he  believed  in  his  own 
ideals.  When  Felix  Diaz  started  a  futile  revolution  in 
Vera  Cruz — a  revolution  so  badly  arranged  that  it 
collapsed  from  the  fact  that  the  revolutionary  chiefs 
had  not  sufficient  foresight  to  issue  some  badge  or  dis- 
tinguishing mark  to  their  mercenaries,  with  the  comic 
result  that  no  one  could  distinguish  between  friend  and 
foe— Madero  spared  his  life.  If  Mr.  Taft's  nephew 
invaded  Philadelphia,  and  proceeded  to  shoot  useful 
citizens,  the  United  States  of  America  would,  on 
capturing  him,  execute  him  with  the  minimum  of  delay 
and  the  maximum  of  publicity,  and  everyone  would 
agree  that  it  was  a  wise  move.     Madero  spared  Diaz. 


236  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

Madero,  the  idealist,  believed  that  for  Mexico  the  era  of 
political  murder  had  passed,  and  in  order  to  show  the 
world  that  he  believed  in  his  ideals,  spared  the  life  of 
his  captive. 

In  February,  Felix  Diaz,  General  Huerta,  and 
General  Bernardo  Reyes  bought  over  part  of  the  army, 
and  by  a  coup  d'etat  seized  the  Citadel  in  Mexico  City. 
Madero  was  caught  unprepared.  The  country  was 
peaceful  and  settling  down,  a  new  and  free  election  was 
preparing,  and  popular  confidence  was  firmly  rooted  in 
Madero.  Mexico  was  settling  into  its  stride  and  com- 
merce beginning  to  revive.  This  group  of  men,  whom 
popular  opinion  had  expelled  from  power  before  as 
corrupt  and  tyrannous,  now  revived,  and  by  a  sudden 
purely  criminal  act — the  seizing  of  the  Citadel — 
plunges  the  whole  of  the  Republic  again  into  the 
throes  of  civil  war. 

For  a  parallel,  imagine  to  yourself  the  minority  of  an 
unpopular  party  seizing  the  Tower  some  few  weeks 
before  a  General  Election,  and  then,  by  superior  force 
of  arms  and  general  treachery,  overthrowing  the 
Government  and  assassinating  the  Cabinet. 

The  provincial  Governments  were  not  in  sympathy 
with  this  "  revolution."  It  was  not  really  a  revolution, 
but  much  more  like  some  extraordinary  anarchist 
crime.  The  Madero  Government  was  popular  and 
doing  well,  yet  this  little  group  of  adventurers  seized 
the  governing  power  of  the  State,  and  after  fierce  fight- 
ing, in  which  foreigners  were  killed  and  foreign 
property  damaged,  the  Legations  under  fire,  and 
American  women  killed,  seized  by  treachery  the  person 
of  Madero,  who,  after  a  day's  confinement,  was  killed 


APPENDIX  237 

under  circumstances  that  nobody  who  knows  Mexico 
can  possibly  believe  were,  as  the  new  Government  say, 
"  accidental." 

**  While  being  taken  to  prison,  Madero's  friends 
attempted  a  rescue,  and  by  one  of  them  he  was  accident- 
ally shot."  So  runs  General  Huerta's  "  explanation  " 
— the  statement  that  he  cabled  to  the  Daily  Express^ 
"  A  full  inquiry  is  to  be  made."  And  it  was  found  that 
Madero,  while  seated  in  the  motor,  was  shot  in  the 
back  at  close  range,  his  clothes  being  singed  by  the 
burning  powder. 

So  it  runs — Madero  and  his  brother  dead,  victims 
of  their  own  clemency,  for  they  were  killed  by  people 
whom  they  spared.  Madero's  work  lives  on.  Mexico 
has  awakened  to  the  need  of  reform,  and  the  Diaz- 
Huerta  peace  policy,  that  leads  off  with  assassination, 
is  not  reform,  but  reaction — the  darkness  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  The  old  Diaz  regime  was  marked  by  corruption, 
tyranny,  and  no  intellectual  or  political  development. 
Mexico  was  bond-slave  to  the  group  that  drained  her 
treasure  for  themselves,  and  here  again  we  find  the 
same  group  striving  to  re-establish  themselves,  and 
founding  a  "  policy  of  peace  "  upon  a  campaign  of 
murder.  They,  in  their  eagerness  to  grasp  the  spoils 
of  office  (there  are  already  rumours  of  a  new  Mexican 
loan),  have  imperilled  the  very  existence  of  Mexico  as  a 
Republic  at  all.  The  provincial  Governors  are  loath 
to  accept  the  domination  of  the  new  group,  and  the 
northern  States  of  the  Republic  talk  of  secession  from 
the  Union,  for  they,  being  nearer  civilization,  resent 
the  imposition  of  barbaric  methods. 

How  long  the  United  States  will  permit  this  condi- 


238  A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 

tion  of  aifairs,  and  how  long  they  will  hand  out  impartial 
approbation  to  any  successful  group  of  adventurers, 
who  chance  to  seize  the  helm  of  their  neighbouring 
Republic,  is  a  matter  for  serious  consideration.  When 
the  fighting  was  in  progress  they  mobilized  an  Army 
Corps,  but,  in  spite  of  the  death  of  American  citizens, 
the  destruction  of  foreign  property,  and  the  bombard- 
ment of  the  Legations,  they  took  no  active  steps  to 
maintain  order  or  their  national  prestige.  The  reasons 
for  this  are  obvious :  Latin- American  republics  look 
upon  the  U.S.A.  with  deep  suspicion,  and  the  occupation 
of  Mexico  would  entail  a  boycott  of  American  trade. 
Cuba  and  the  Philippines  were  expensive  lessons  for 
Washington,  and  the  U.S.A.  realizes  in  full  the  diffi- 
culties of  international  police  work.  On  the  other  hand, 
European  expansion  is  checked  by  the  Monroe  doc- 
trine, which  forbids  the  acquisition  of  any  land  in  the 
Western  Hemisphere  by  a  European  Power ;  and 
whether  this  doctrine  still  holds  good,  or  whether  the 
U,S.A.  is  sufficiently  strong  enough  to  enforce  it  (owing 
to  her  small  military  establishment  and  general  lack 
of  armament),  has  never  been  tested.  Brazil  would 
afford  Germany  opportunities  such  as  she  needs ;  and 
Mexico,  where  there  is  something  like  ^f  100,000,000 
English  capital,  could  be  made  into  an  American 
Egypt. 

Mexico  needs  saving  from  the  Mexicans ;  she  cannot 
govern  herself,  and  a  Protectorate  would  afford  her  the 
opportunity  to  grow  up,  and  at  the  same  time  safeguard 
foreign  business  interests  and  further  the  material  and 
intellectual  development  of  the  country.  One  thing  is 
certain,  and  that   is   that  Washington   should   either 


APPENDIX  239 

guarantee  to  preserve  order,  or  announce  that  she  no 
longer  holds  to  the  Monroe  doctrine. 

Mexican  government  is  a  tragic  farce,  and  the 
foreign  investor  who  has  invested  on  the  strength  of  the 
belief  that  the  U.S.A.  will  hold  to  her  obligations  has 
a  right  to  know  what  Washington's  attitude  is.  At 
present  it  seems  to  be  that  the  lives  and  property  of 
foreigners  may  be  endangered,  and  in  some  cases  de- 
stroyed, without  any  steps  being  taken  to  enforce 
order. 

Mexico  is  a  great  country,  rich  and  teeming  with 
possibilities,  but  the  present  condition  of  instability 
renders  her  development  hopeless;  until  commercial 
security,  coupled  with  political  honesty,  asserts  itself 
nothing  can  be  hoped  for.  Whether  this  is  likely  to 
occur  in  Mexican  hands  the  events  of  the  last  three 
years  seem  to  leave  not  only  in  doubt,  but  beyond  the 
range  of  probability. 


INDEX 


Aamargo,  General,  encounter 

with,  170-171,  175 
Adams,  Fred,  226 
Agua  Dulce  village,  halt  at,  26- 

29 

Alfonso,  King  of  Spain,  175 
Alligators,  shooting  of,  26,  27 
Ants,  fire,  adventure  with,  32,  33 

description  of,  49 
Arteaga,  103 
Aztec  and  Toltec  remains  and 

curios,  51,  52,  89,  90,  94 

Empire  and  rehgion,  91,  92 

languages,  92 

methods    of   dyeing    and 

weaving,  95 

B 

Barra,  Senor  de  la,  158,  212 

Belem  Prison,  212 

Brazil,  238 

Bull-fighting,     description    of. 
124,  125 

C 

Cabrera,  Miguel,  103 

California,  Lower,  154 

Campeche  Bay,  230 

Canada,  233 

Canoe,  loss  of  a,  38 
Canoes,  description  of,  23,  24 
Cartwright,  133-139 
Casa  d'Or,  Caf€  of,  133-138 
Cerda,  Don  Guillermo  de  la  i<; 
16,17  ^' 

Cerdan,  153 

Cerro  Prieto,  Battle  of,  1-5^ 
Chapultepec,  163 
— -  Park,  119 

Chato,  a  native  hunter,  ko,  «;i,  « 
Chiapas,  State  of,  2.  3,  i8,ig,%. 


Chihuahua,  152,  153,  154 
Chill,  107 

Coahuila  State,  152 
Cocoyule,  expedition  to,  46-53 

hunting  resources  of,  45 

ruins  of,  Aztec  City  at,  51, 52 

Colon,  Cafd,  160 

Colombia,  107 

Condesa,  La,  race  track,  126 

Constantinople,  63 

Corral,  Don  Ramon,  153,  i«:6 

Cortez,  89,  95,  iiS 

Cosmopolitan  Riding  Club,  the, 

Cruz  Azul.    See  Cruz  Roya 
Cruz  Roya,  work  of,  and  rivalry 

with  Cruz  Azal,  164,  165,  203 
Cuba,  229,  230,  238 
Cuernavaca,  139,  165 

D 

Darieu,  67 

Desierto,    El,    hills,   encounter 
with  rebels  at,  191-201 

Diaz,  Felix,  235,  236 

Diaz,  President  Porfirio,  99,  152, 
i53»  157,  158,  175,  215, 
224,  227,  234 

departure  from  Mexico 

City,  225 

government,  237 

reasons  for  his  down- 
fall, 228 

resignation  of,  158,  202, 

212,  219 

Dolores  Cemetery,  the,  75 

Drake,  89,  227 

E 

Earthquakes,    first   experience 

of,  64 
Egrets,  25 
"  Enchiladas,"  description  of,  84 


240 


INDEX 


241 


Enganchars.     See  Indians 
Estella,  Senora,  231 
"Esterros"    country,    explora- 
tion of,  19-44 

F 

Figuerroa,  revolutionary  leader, 

155 
Fish,  method  of  cooking,  41 
Food,    description     of    native 

foods,  83-88 
"  Foxchase,  El,"  description  of, 

no- 124 
"  Fnjoles."  manner  of  eating,  87 


Germany,  238 

Gonzalez,  Ivieutenant,  191-201 

Grove-Johnson,     Don     Carlos, 

F.R.I.B.A.,  105 
Guatemala,  89,  140,  142 

Frontier  of,  5,  8 

Guerrero  State,  155 

H 

Hacienda,  the,  customs  of,  80, 81 

description  of,  78-79 

organization  and  ruling  of, 

79-80 

bailes    de,   description  of, 

81,82 
Halley's  comet,  75 
Havana,  114,  231 
Hemken  Hotel,  the,  3,  4 
Hemken,  hotel-keeper,  4,  5,  7, 

8,  17 
Hermandez,  General,  226 
"  Hoboes,"  description  of,  140- 

142 
Huerta,  General,  235,  236 
Huevos-y-arros,  a  Mexican  dish, 

'\ 

Ibarra,  Jos^,  103 

Indians,  "Enganchars,"  10,11 

art  of,  102,  104,  105 

effect  of  European  art 

on,  103 

description  of  Mexican,  73- 

78,  79,  80,  81,  82 
settlement  in  the  Esterros, 

43,44 
writings  and  codices,  104 


Isla  de  las  Brujhas,  29,  30 

story  of,  30,  31 

Isla  de  Sacrificios,  229 
Ispahan,  63 

Jackson,  his  essays  in  biology, 

46,  47,  48.  49,  50,  53 
Jaguar,  or  "black  tiger,"  45 
shooting  of,  and  descrip- 
tion, 52 
"Jerky,"  dried  beef,  22,  23 
Jocky  Club  de  Mexico,  the,  125, 

126 
Jos€,  a  Mexican  boy,  46,  47,  51, 

53 
Juarez,  Benito,  162,  184 
Juchitan,  45,  50 


lycopard,  stalking  of,  35,  36 
London,  232 
Luis,  35,  36,  37,  185,  190 
lyuque.  General,  153 

M 

Machete,  description  of,  10 

Madero,  Don  Francisco  Inda- 

lecio,    152,    153,    158, 

160, 162,  163,  212,  213, 

228,  231,  232 

assassination    of,    234, 

237 
character    and    work. 


234,  235,  236 
Manzanillo,  141 

Maria   Guerrero    Theatre,    de- 
scription of,  161 
Marlake,  133-139 
Maximilian,  162 
Maya  monuments,  102 
Mexico  City,  18,  54,  61,  90,  93, 
114,  115,  126-128,  137, 

I39ri97    ^ 

arrival  at,  62 

description  of,  63, 64,  70 

conditions  of  labour  in, 

65,66    , 

funerals  in,  76,  77 

inhabitants  of,  65,  68- 

72,  148 
journey  to,  under  rebel 

fire,  202-211 
Rebel  rioting  in,  213-220 

16 


242 


A  BUSY  TIME  IN  MEXICO 


Mexico,  Republic  of,  2,  59 
army    and    its    equip- 
ment, 96,  97-99,  192 

art  treasures  of,  103, 104 

Christmas  in,  145,  146 

climate  of,  116 

customs  of,  5,  6 

description  of  country, 

117,  118,  142,  183,  239 
financial    position    of, 

237,  239^  ^  ^     ^ 
game  and  nsn  of,  115, 

116,  117 
Government    of,    156, 

158-160,  235 
labour    conditions   in, 

146-148 
land  speculation    and 

colonization,  66,  67 

literature  of,  105 

lower  classes  in,  140 

mining  in,  66 

Presidency  of,  233 

revolution,  causes    of, 

157,  158 

incidents   in,   153- 

158,  167-169,  176- 
182,  186-190.  See 
also  Mexico  City 
and  Desierto  hills 

rubber-growing  in,  65, 

66 

Michoacan,  156,  170 

MiUtary  Riding  Club,  the,  120 

Miners'  Club,  the,  130,  132,  139 

"Mole  de  guajalote,"  descrip- 
tion of,  87 

Morelia,  173 

sack  of,  156 

Morocco,  197 

Mosquitoes,  21,  23 

nets,  109 

N 
Naranjo,  El,  ranch  of,  6,  7 

inhabitants  of,  8 

road  to,  9-15 

Navarrez,  General,  173,  174,  180, 

181,  182 
New  York,  229,  230 

O 
Oaxaca,  State  of,  61,  155 
Ochave,  Baltaras  de,  103 


Orizaba,  225,  229 

Orozco  rebellion,  the,  235 

Outfit,  hints  on  suitable  clothing 

and  essentials  of  travel, 

107-109 

armament,  110-112 

medicine-case,  113-114 

photographic     necessities, 

117 

P 

Pan  -  American    railways,   acci- 
dent on,  57,  58 

accommodation  on,  56 

description  of,  56,  57 

railway  restaurants  on, 

58,  59>  60 
Panama,  233 
Paris,  63,  230,  232 
Pascual,    a    Mexican    student, 

gastronomic  adventures  with, 

83-88 
Paseo  de  la  Reform  a,  rebel  de- 
monstration at,  218 
Pearson,  Sir  Weetman,  226 
Peons,  habits  and  character  of 

Mexican,  146-148,  157 
Peralvillo,     adventure    at    the 

house  in  the  suburb  of,   161- 

164 
Peru,  Incas  of,  89 
Philadelphia,  235 
Philippines,  238 

Pigs,  description  of  wild  Mexi- 
can breed,  31 

adventure  with,  32,  33 

Pijijapam  Station,  halt  at,  20,  21, 

22 
Puebla,  105,  153,  222 
Pulque,  the  manufacture  of,  84, 

85 

saloon,  description  of,  85, 86 

Pulteney,  description  of,  adven- 
ture with  Toreros,  128-139 


Race  meetings,  description  of, 

126,  127 
Revolution.     See  Mexico 
Reyes,  General  Bernardo,  236 
Rio  Grande,  the,  176 
Road  of  the  Dead,  the,  93 
Rubber-growing.    See  Mexico 
Rurales,  or  mounted  police,  30, 

31 


INDEX 


243 


Rurales,  or  mounted  police,  de- 
scription of,  99,  100 
equipment,  100,  loi 


Sabino,  45 

St.  Cyr,  97 

Salina  Cruz,  61,  141 

San  Geronimo,  46,  54,  61 

Brewery  at,  61 

San  Juan  de  Alloa,  prison  of,  229 
San  Lazaro  quarter,  86 
Santa  Lucrecia,  174,  181 
Seffer,  Dr.  Olson,  165 
Sharks  at  Tolomita,  37,  38 
Spoonbill,  description  of,  42 
Storm,  a  tropical,  description  of, 

42,  43 

T 

Tacubaya  barracks,  212 
Taft,  ex-President,  235 
Tamalpa,  170 
Tapachula,  2,  3,  4,  8,  13,  17,  54 

description  of  the  station 

at,  54,  55 
Tehuantepec,  46 

Isthmus  of,  2,  3,  19 

Teomique,     the     Goddess     of 

Death,  76 
Teotihuacan  ruins,  93,  04 
Three  Cats,  the  Cafe  oi,  132 
Ticks,  jungle,  40 
Tlalpam,  97 
Tolomita,  Bar  of,  halt  at,  31-37 

crossing  the  Bar,  38 

Tonala,  44,  59 


Toreros,  description  and  charac- 
ter of,  124,  129 
Trott,  Johnny,  128-139 
Tumbulteco  dialect,  11 
Turtle,  capture  of,  36,  37 

U 

United    States,    relations  with 
Mexico,  154, 156,  158, 159,  237- 

=39         ^ 

Vera  Cruz,   128,    158,    166,   202, 
221,  224,  228 

description  of,  227 

journey  to,  224  226 

revolution  in,  235 

Viga  Canal,  the,  197 

W 

Washington,  63,  238,  239 
West  Point,  97 
Witchcraft,     its     practice 
Indians,  77-78 


X 


by 


Xochimilco,  86 

Y 
Yucatan,  90,  102,  160,  230 

Z 

Zapatistas  risings,  235 
Zocalo,  213,  214,  215 

and  the  Thieves'  Market,  94 

Zumarraga,  Bishop,  104 


BILLING  AND  SONS,   LTD.,  PRINTERS,  GUILDFORD 


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